X 


Father!  oh,  father!  don't  do  it,  father!"  she  cried  in  a  piteous  wail. 

Page  22. 


0  & 


THREE  YEARS 


IN  A  MAN-TRAP 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
•TEN    NIGHTS   IN   A   BAR-ROOM/ 


PHILADELPHIA 

J.  M.   STODDART  &  CO. 

1872 


v 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

J.   M.   STODDART  &  CO., 
in  the  office  of  the  LiLnarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


WESTCOTT  &  THOMSON,  HENRY  B.  ASHMKAD, 

Stereotypers  and  Electrotyfers,  f/tiU,U.  Printer,  Philada. 


PUBLISHERS'    PREFACE. 


IT  is  nearly  twenty  years  since  the  author  of  this 
volume  gave  to  the  public  "  TEN  NIGHTS  IN  A  BAR 
ROOM" — a  revelation  of  the  evils  of  liquor-selling 
so  true  to  nature,  so  vivid  in  pictorial  effect  and  so 
strong  in  its  delineation  of  character  and  incident, 
that  it  took  the  people  by  surprise,  and  it  has  ever 
since  held  its  own  among  the  most  popular  books 
of  the  day,  the  demand  for  it  being  still  unabated. 

In  "Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap"  he  grapples 
again  with  the  monster  Intemperance,  but  in  a  new 
field,  and  with  enemies  more  thoroughly  disciplined 
and  organized.  From  a  quiet  country  village  with 
its  "  SICKLE  AND  SHEAF"  he  turns  to  a  great  city  with 
its  six  or  seven  thousand  saloons  and  dram-shops, 
and  uncovers  the  deadly  ulcer  that  is  eating  steadily 
down  toward  the  vitals  of  the  people. 

RTH19133 


4  Publishers'  Preface. 

From  the  first  page  to  the  last  of  this  new  book 
the  reader  will  find  himself  drawn  on  and  on  by  a 
series  of  rapidly-recurring  pictures,  some  of  them  so 
intense  and  vivid,  yet  so  true  to  real  life,  that  he  will 
almost  hold  his  breath  while  he  follows  the  author 
from  canvas  to  canvas  through  the  whole. 

It  cannot  fail,  the  publishers  believe,  to  make  a 
profound  impression.  Its  scenes,  its  facts,  and,  above 
all,  its  deep  pervading  earnestness,  will  powerfully 
impress  every  one,  and  awaken  the  people  to  a  new 
sense  of  their  duty  and  their  danger. 


THREE  YEARS  IN  A  MAN-TRAP. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  SHARP  retort  was  forming  on  Lloyd's  tongue, 
when  I  noticed  a  look  of  blank  surprise,  almost 
terror,  break  suddenly  into  his  face.  His  eyes  were 
on  the  door.  I  turned,  and  saw  that  it  was  pushed 
open  just  a  little  by  a  woman's  small  white  hand. 
Through  the  opening  I  could  see,  indistinctly,  a 
woman's  face,  pale  and  wild-looking,  but  was  not 
able  to  make  out  with  certainty  the  features.  Almost 
in  the  instant  I  saw  it,  the  door  was  shut  again  and 
the  face  hidden.  When  I  turned  to  Lloyd,  his 
countenance  was  blanched. 

"  Who  was  it,  Tom  ?"  I  asked. 

He  did  not  stir  nor  speak  for  several  moments. 

"  Who  was  it  ?     Do  you  know  ?"     I  repeated  my 
question. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  I  said. 

"  Who  ?"     He  spoke  eagerly,  leaning  toward  me 
like  one  in  great  suspense, 

i*  5 


6  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  If  I'm  not  mistaken,  it  was  the  wife  of  Ellis 
Granger,"  I  returned.  "  He's  been  going  to  the 
dogs  for  a  year,  as  we  know,  and  about  as  fast  as  the 
devil  wants  him.  I  heard  some  young  fellows  talk 
ing  about  him  at  the  theatre  the  other  night,  and 
they  said  his  wife  was  almost  distressed  to  death 
about  him,  and  that  her  friends  were  afraid  she'd 
lose  her  mind.  They've  only  been  married  a  couple 
of  years." 

"  And  you  think  it  was  her  ?"  Lloyd  queried,  the 
look  of  suspense  and  fear  beginning  to  pass  from  his 
face. 

"  I'm  almost  sure  of  it,"  I  replied. 

"  Where  have  you  seen  her?" 

"  At  the  theatre  with  her  husband.  She's  one  of 
the  handsomest  women  I  ever  saw,  or  was  some 
time  ago,  but  has  changed  so  much  of  late  that 
you'd  hardly  know  her  as  the  same  person.  Gran 
ger  is  breaking  her  heart,  so  they  say." 

"  But  I  can't  understand  what  should  bring  her 
down  here  at  this  hour  and  on  such  a  night,"  said 
Lloyd. 

"  Nor  I,  except  on  the  theory  that  she  is  out  of 
her  head,"  I  replied. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it." 

The  fear  and  anxiety  came  back  into  Lloyd's 
face.  Then,  after  seeming  to  debate  with  himself 
for  a  while,  he  stooped  and  took  from  a  closet 
under  the  counter  his  overcoat,  and  as  he  drew  it 
on  said, 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  7 

"  I  must  see  who  it  is.  She  might  perish  in  the 
cold  and  snow." 

He  went  out  hastily,  much  to  my  surprise,  for 
Tom  Lloyd  was  not  given  to  caring  for  other  people. 
If  the  woman,  whoever  she  was,  had  come  in  and 
said  or  done  anything  he  didn't  care  to  have  said  or 
done,  he  would  have  turned  her  out  into  the  wild 
storm,  unless  hindered  from  doing  so,  with  as  little 
feeling  as  if  she  were  a  brute,  so  hardened  had  he 
become  in  the  few  years  we  had  kept  this  tavern 
together. 

He  came  back  in  about  ten  minutes,  stamping 
the  snow  from  his  boots  and  shaking  it  from  his 
clothes.  The  sober  look  was  still  on  his  face. 

"  Did  you  find  her?"  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  then,  in  a  half-dogged 
sort  of  way,  went  slowly  back  to  his  place  behind 
the  bar. 

"  Who  do  you  think  it  was,  Tom  ?"  I  asked. 

I  saw  the  muscles  of  his  face  quiver  a  little. 

"  No  idea  in  the  world,"  he  answered,  with  the 
tone  of  one  who  would  be  glad  to  push  the  whole 
thing  out  of  his  mind. 

The  day  had  been  unusually  cold  and  boisterous. 
Toward  evening  it  moderated  a  little,  and  the  snow 
began  to  fall — not  in  large  soft  flakes,  but  in  fine 
grains  almost  as  hard  as  hail.  The  wind  kept  high, 
and  blew  the  snow  about  in  blinding  gusts. 

The  streets  were  almost  deserted  until  a  little  after 
nightfall,  when  men  of  business,  workmen,  clerks, 


8  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

factory  and  store  hands  began  hurrying  home 
ward,  some  packing  themselves  into  the  over 
crowded  cars,  and  others  bending  to  the  storm,  that 
almost  took  the  breath  away  in  its  wilder  eddies. 

And  now  business,  which  had  been  dull  for  some 
hours,  grew  brisk  again.  As  the  men  poured  forth 
at  six  o'clock  from  the  bindery  and  printing-office, 
a  larger  number  than  usual  came  in  for  something 
warm  to  fortify  themselves  against  the  bitter  cold 
they  were  to  encounter  on  their  way  homeward. 
Most  of  them  took  spirits  instead  of  beer.  For 
nearly  half  an  hour  Lloyd,  myself  and  our  bar 
tender  were  kept  as  busy  as  bees. 

Then  came  a  lull,  and  our  rooms  were  nearly 
empty  of  guests. 

"  We  shall  have  a  poor  evening,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
Lloyd. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  a  man's  home  must  be  dreary 
enough  if  he  doesn't  prefer  staying  there  to  going 
out  to-night.  We  shall  miss  the  faces  of  some  of 
our  friends." 

"  Some,  I'm  thinking,  that  we'd  like  to  miss  alto 
gether,"  said  Lloyd.  "There's  old  Jacobs,  the 
pressman.  I  dread  to  see  his  face.  He's  sure  to 
get  up  a  row  with  some  body.  A  glass  or  two 
makes  him  as  snappish  as  a  cur." 

"  I'd  rather  see  him  a  dozen  times  over  than 
Ashley's  son,"  I  replied.  "That  boy's  going  to 
ruin  as  fast  as  the  devil  can  carry  him." 

"I   wouldn't,   then,"   was    returned.      "John's   a 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  9 

good-natured,  quiet  fellow,  and  never  gets  into 
trouble  with  any  one.  He  is  a  little  wild  and  fast, 
it  is  true,  but  he'll  grow  out  of  that." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  of  it ;  but  when  a  young 
man  under  twenty  gets  switched  off  the  track,  ten 
to  one  against  his  ever  getting  on  again.  That's  my 
observation." 

"  It  isn't  mine,  then,"  said  Lloyd.  "  I  can  point 
you  to  a  dozen  steady  family-men  who  were  once 
among  the  wildest  young  fellows  I  ever  saw." 

"  A  great  deal  depends  on  character  and  tempera 
ment,"  was  my  reply.  "  In  the  case  of  John  Ashley, 
a  weak,  good-natured,  social  boy — we  can  hardly 
call  him  a  man — the  chances  are  all  against  him." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  were,"  returned  Lloyd, 
in  a  tone  of  indifference.  "  But  that's  none  of  our 
business." 

"  I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  trouble  with  his  father 
yet,"  I  remarked. 

"  His  father  go  to  !"  said  Lloyd,  angrily. 

"What  can  he  do?  Let  him  keep  his  son  at 
home." 

"  That  is  more  easily  said  than  done,  I  imagine. 
You  can't  keep  a  fellow  at  his  age  in  leading-strings. 
But  he  is  a  minor." 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"  The  law  against  selling  liquor  to  minors  is  an 
ugly  one.  I  don't  like  it." 

"  Law !"  A  derisive  laugh  rang  through  the  bar 
room.  "  I'm  not  afraid  of  liquor  laws.  They've 


to  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

all  got  a  loophole.  Our  friends  in  the  Legislature 
know  how  to  manage  that  business." 

"But  if  one  should  happen  to  get  tripped,  it 
wouldn't  be  so  pleasant  to  be  fined  and  jugged. 
There's  a  good  deal  of  stir  among  these  confounded 
temperance  men  just  now,"  I  replied. 

"  Oh,  well,  they'll  only  kick  up  a  little  dust.  It 
won't  amount  to  anything." 

"  Maybe  not ;  still,  I  don't  altogether  like  the  look 
of  things.  Did  you  see  the  judge's  charge  to  the 
grand  jury  yesterday?" 

"  No." 

"  It  is  nearly  all  about  us  liquor-sellers." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Just  so.  Here  it  is ;"  and  I  took  an  afternoon 
paper  and  read : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  grand  jury :  There  are  two 
matters  to  which  I  wish  particularly  to  call  your 
attention  at  this  time,  viz. :  First.  To  the  flagrant 
violations  of  the  law  respecting  the  sale  of  intox 
icating  liquors." 

"That  doesn't  mean  us,"  said  Lloyd;  "we  pay 
our  license — we  are  law-abiding." 

"  We  shall  see ;"  and  I  read  on : 

"The  grand  jury  for  the  December  session,  in 
their  presentment  of  Saturday  last,  have  uttered  the 
following  emphatic  language : 

" '  The  jury  would  state  that  seven-eighths  of 
all  the  cases  of  assault  and  battery  brought  before 
us  can  be  traced  to  the  too  free  use  of  intoxicating 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  n 

liquors,  and  would  most  earnestly  recommend  a  more 
stringent  enforcement  of  the  license  laws. 

"  '  Besides  the  mischiefs  which  inevitably  flow  from 
the  licensed  sale  of  liquors,  the  evils  which  follow 
the  unlawful  traffic  in  liquors  are  of  great  magnitude, 
and  require  the  stern  application  of  law  to  them  to 
suppress  them.  That  you  may  be  informed  what  is 
prohibited  by  law  respecting  the  sale  of  liquors,  I 
propose  to  give  you  a  summary  of  the  law  on  that 
subject.' " 

"  That'll  do ;  you  needn't  read  any  more  of  his 
stuff.  We  pay  our  license ;"  and  Lloyd  waved  his 
hand  impatiently. 

"  There's  something  here  about  minors  and  drunk 
ards — an  extract  from  the  law  the  judge  speaks  of. 
I  guess  you'd  better  hear  it." 

Lloyd  bent  his  head  to  listen,  and  I  went  on : 

"  Willfully  furnishing  intoxicating  drinks,  by  sale, 
gift  or  otherwise,  to  any  person  of  known  intem 
perate  habits,  to  a  minor  or  to  an  insane  person,  for 
use  as  a  beverage,  shall  be  held  and  deemed  a  mis 
demeanor,  and,  upon  conviction  thereof,  the  offender 
shall  be  fined  not  less  than  ten  nor  more  than  fifty 
dollars,  and  undergo  an  imprisonment  of  not  less 
than  ten  nor  more  than  sixty  days ;  and  the  willful 
furnishing  of  intoxicating  drinks  as  a  beverage  to  any 
person  when  drunk  or  intoxicated  shall  be  deemed 
a  misdemeanor,  punishable  as  aforesaid." 

"  It  doesn't  amount  to  anything,"  was  Lloyd's  re 
ply.     "The   judge  only  spread   himself  a  little  to 


12  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

gain  popularity  with  the  temperance  men.  As  to 
grand-jury  presentments,  they  never  come  to  any 
thing." 

"  I  guess  the  judge  was  about  of  your  opinion," 
said  I,  "  for  toward  the  end  of  his  charge  he  lets  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag.  Hear  what  he  says ;"  and  I 
read: 

" '  Unfortunately,  we  are  too  much  accustomed  to 
consider  that  laws  will  execute  themselves,  or  that 
the  officers  of  the  law  should  become  public  prose 
cutors,  and  too  little  attention  is  given  by  our  citi 
zens  generally  to  the  enforcement  of  the  laws  and  the 
punishment  of  wrong-doers.  In  a  republican  gov 
ernment  every  citizen  has  a  direct  interest  in  the 
enforcement  of  the  laws,  and  if  a  greater  interest 
were  manifest  in  their  enforcement,  our  republican 
institutions  would  not  be  so  often  brought  into 
question.' " 

"  Just  so  :  what's  everybody's  business  is  nobody's 
business,"  replied  Lloyd. 

A  fiercer  blast  than  usual  sent  the  fine,  sand-like 
snow  in  a  pelting  gust  against  the  window.  In  the 
pause  that  followed  I  heard  a  child's  voice  outside. 
Then  the  door  was  pushed  slowly  open  and  two  little 
figures  glided  in,  white  with  snow — a  bright-eyed 
Italian  boy  not  over  ten  years  of  age,  and  his  sister, 
who  was  still  younger.  The  boy  had  a  violin  and 
the  girl  a  tambourine.  They  were  shivering  with 
cold. 

"  Off  with  you  !     Off  with  you  !"  cried  Lloyd,  ad- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap,  13 

vancing  toward  the  children  and  waving  his    hand 
toward  the  door. 

The  girl  looked  frightened,  but  the  boy  stood  his 
ground. 

"  I  wouldn't  turn  a  dog  out  on  a  night  like  this," 
spoke  up  a  man  who  had  come  in  a  short  time  be 
fore,  and  was  now  sitting  at  a  table  reading  and  en 
joying  his  glass  of  hot  whisky  punch. 

Lloyd  felt  the  rebuke,  and  returned  to  the  bar. 
The  children  came  forward,  and,  after  shaking  the 
snow  from  their  poor  garments,  began  warming  their 
half-frozen  hands  at  the  stove.  There  was  a  pinched, 
hungry  look  in  the  girl's  face,  and  something  so  wist 
ful  in  her  large,  black,  Italian  eyes  that  I  was  moved 
to  pity. 

So  I  came  round  from  the  bar  and  said  a  kind 
word.  It  was  as  if  a  sunbeam  had  fallen  on  the 
child's  face,  it  brightened  so  suddenly. 

"  Hungry  ?"  I  asked. 

She  nodded  her  head  in  reply,  looking  pleased  but 
eager. 

I  took  the  two  children  into  a  back  room,  and  gave 
them  each  some  bread  and  cheese  and  a  small  glass 
of  beer. 

"You're  a  great  fool,"  growled  Lloyd.  "We'll 
have  a  hundred  of  these  vagabonds  upon  us  before 
the  week's  out." 

"  We  can  deal  with  them  as  they  come  along,"  I 
replied,  with  some  asperity  of  tone,  for  I  was 
voked  at  his  utter  want  of  feeling. 

2 


14  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

His  eyes  flashed.  He  was  getting  more  and  more 
irritable  every  day,  and  I  found  it  sometimes  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  keep  from  an  open  quarrel. 
He  drank  more  of  late  than  usual.  For  the  first 
year  or  so  after  we  opened  the  house  he  indulged 
sparingly,  but  in  the  last  few  months  his  appetite 
for  liquor  had  grown  on  him  so  fast  that  I  began  to 
feel  concerned — the  more  so,  as  he  was  one  of  the 
men  into  whom  the  devil  seems  to  go  by  the  way  of 
drink. 

An  hour  later  and  customers  began  to  drop  in, 
but  not  as  freely  as  on  clear  nights.  Men  with  com 
fortable  homes,  and  not  too  much  given  to  drink, 
preferred  keeping  indoors  to  going  out  on  such  a 
wild  and  stormy  evening.  So,  as  a  rule,  we  had  only 
the  hard  cases  that  night — customers  who  must  have 
their  liquor  if  they  had  to  go  through  fire  and  water 
to  get  it. 

Old  Jacobs  the  pressman  was  among  the  earliest 
of  these.  Not  long  after  him  came  John  Ashley,  the 
foreman's  son,  and  soon  after,  Joe  Wilson,  a  young 
man  who  worked  in  the  bindery,  and  who,  though 
not  yet  of  age,  was  fast  going  to  ruin. 

By  nine  o'clock  we  had  in  about  a  dozen  men  and 
lads,  half  of  whom  were  up  stairs  in  private  rooms, 
playing  cards,  singing  songs  or  in  other  ways  amus 
ing  themselves,  and  every  now  and  then  ordering  up 
liquor. 

They  were  a  thirsty  set,  and  made  frequent  de 
mands  on  the  bar.  The  tongue  of  old  Jacobs  was 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  15 

getting  oiled  by  this  time,  and  he  was  in  the  midst 
of  an  argument  with  another  man,  and  rather  an  ill- 
looking  person,  who  was  a  stranger.  Now,  Jacobs, 
toper  as  he  was,  and  always  as  full  of  beer  as  a  keg, 
had  a  queer  fancy  for  talking  on  the  side  of  temper 
ance,  and  the  tipsier  he  got,  the  longer  and  stronger 
he  talked,  not  unfrequently  in  pressing  his  case  offer 
ing  himself  as  an  example  and  witness  of  the  evil  of 
liquor-selling  and  liquor-drinking.  He  was,  strange 
to  say,  a  real  or  pretended  advocate  of  prohibition, 
and  had  a  way  of  putting  his  argument  that  bothered 
a  good  many,  silenced  some  and  brought  a  few  over 
to  his  side.  I  was  always  annoyed  when  he  got 
going  on  this  key,  for  he  said  a  great  many  hard 
things  and  a  great  many  true  ones.  As  for  Lloyd, 
it  was  generally  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  keep  him 
quiet.  He  would  have  pitched  him  into  the  street 
long  ago  if  he  had  not  taken  counsel  of  prudence 
and  repressed  his  quick  anger.  Jacobs  was  gen 
erally  liked  among  the  men  in  the  printing-office, 
and  an  indignity  to  him  would  have  been  resented 
to  our  loss  in  the  loss  of  custom.  So  we  had  to 
bear  with  him,  and  our  forbearance  made  him  grow 
reckless  of  speech  when  the  humor  was  on  him. 

"There's  no  good  in  it,  sir,  no  good,"  I  heard 
him  say  sharply  to  the  stranger  in  a  rising  voice. 
"  And  if  I  had  my  way,  there  wouldn't  be  a  rum-mill 
in  the  State." 

"  It's  well  for  some  people  that  you  haven't  your 
way,"  said  the  other,  with  just  a  shade  of  annoyance 


1 6  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap, 

in  his  tone — "for  our  friends  over  there,  for  instance;" 
and  he  waved  his  hand  toward  Lloyd  and  myself. 

"  It  would  be  better  for  some  that  I  could  tell  of, 
and,  if  all  the  truth  were  known,  better  for  'our 
friends  over  there/  if  they  had  never  seen  a  beer- 
barrel  or  toddy-stick.  I  know.  They've  got  a  pile, 
I've  heard ;  and  I  guess  it's  true.  Many  littles  make 
a  mickle,  as  the  Scotch  say.  But  there  are  two 
sides—" 

The  old  pressman  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his 
sentence.  A  man  wrapped  in  a  heavy  cloak,  white 
with  snow,  had  pushed  open  the  door,  and  was 
standing  just  inside.  The  collar  of  his  cloak  cov 
ered  his  face  to  his  eyes.  I  thought  I  knew  him,  but 
could  not  clearly  make  out  who  he  was.  He  stood  like 
a  statue  for  several  moments,  looking  keenly  through 
the  room,  and  then,  without  speaking,  went  out. 

"  Who  was  that  ?"  asked  one  and  another. 

"  Some  poor  father  seeking  in  sorrow  for  a  prod 
igal  son,"  said  Jacobs.  "  I've  done  it  myself.  Poor 
boy!  But  he's  dead  now;"  and  a  sob  and  a 
quiver  came  into  the  old  man's  voice,  half  drunk  as 
he  was. 

"I  know,"  said  one  who  worked  in  the  bindery: 
"  it  was  Ashley.  He's  after  John." 

"By  George!  that's  so!"  exclaimed  Jacobs.  "I 
thought  I  knew  him.  Hark !" 

And  down  from  one  of  the  rooms  above  came  a 
voice  singing, 

"  Champagne  Charley  is  my  name." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  17 

"  That's  his  young  hopeful,"  said  Jacobs,  with  a 
half  chuckle.  "  I  guess  he  won't  find  him.  But  it's 
hard;"  and  his  tone  changed.  "I  know.  I've  been 
there.  I've  traveled  that  road,  and  know  all  about 
it.  Tisn't  agreeable,  no  how  you  can  make  it.  If  I 
was  Tom  Lloyd  and  Hiram  Jones,  I  wouldn't  let  the 
boy  come  here.  He's  a  minor,  and  it's  risky  busi 
ness,  you  see.  The  judge  put  that  very  thing  to  the 
grand  jury  yesterday  strong,  and  I  guess  that's 
what's  set  Mr.  Ashley  going.  If  he'd  pounced  down 
on  John  to-night,  there'd  have  been  some  court 
business,  maybe,  and  maybe — something  else" 

He  drew  down  his  mouth  in  a  comical  way.  A 
laugh  went  round  the  room,  but  neither  I  nor 
Lloyd  enjoyed  it  very  much. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  resumed  old  Jacobs,  turning 
to  the  stranger  with  whom  he  had  been  talking, 
"  there's  no  good  in  it,  and  the  whole  thing  ought 
to  be  stopped." 

"  How  will  you  stop  it  ?"  asked  the  other. 

"  By  law,  sir — by  law !  It's  the  only  way,"  re 
turned  the  old  man,  slapping  his  hand  upon  the 
table  at  which  he  was  sitting. 

"  Then  you'll  never  see  it  stopped,"  was  answered. 
"  The  people  of  this  country  are  not  going  to  pass 
laws  that  interfere  with  a  man's  right  to  eat  and 
drink  what  he  pleases." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Jacobs. 

"Then  what  are  you  talking    about?"  asked  the 
stranger,  with  ill-concealed  contempt  of  manner. 
2*  B 


1 8  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"About  laws  to  stop  whisky-mills,"  answered 
Jacobs,  sharply.  "The  law  doesn't  say  anything 
about  my  eating  bad  meat,  but  it  says  you  sha'n't  sell 
it.  Why?  Because  bad  meat  makes  people  sick. 
So  does  arsenic,  and  so  does  whisky.  If  the  law  is 
right  in  one  case,  why  not  in  the  other  ?  Can  you 
tell  me,  my  fine  fellow  ?" 

And  the  excited  old  man  leaned  across  the  table 
and  glared  at  his  opponent  in  a  way  that  must  have 
been  felt  very  offensive,  for  I  saw  the  stranger's  hand 
move  nervously,  as  if  he  were  going  to  slap  him  in 
the  face. 

"  Come,  come,  Jacobs,"  said  I,  in  a  coaxing  voice, 
as  I  came  round  to  where  he  was  sitting,  and  laid  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Let's  have  good-fellowship 
here  to-night,  and  not  wrangling." 

"  Who's  wrangling,  Hiram  Jones  ? — who's  wrang 
ling,  I'd  like  to  know  ?"  The  old  man  pitched  his 
voice  to  a  higher  key,  and  shook  off  my  hand  im 
patiently. 

"  You're  not,  of  course,"  I  returned,  in  as  pleasant 
a  way  as  I  could  speak. 

"  Who  is,  then  ?"  sharply  asked  the  stranger.  I. 
looked  at  him,  and  saw  a  devil  in  his  eye — a  devil 
that  I  did  not  care  to  provoke.  Before  I  could  re 
ply,  Jacobs  turned  to  him  and  said, 

"  Ha !  my  fine  fellow.  Answer  me  that !  You 
talk  of  law !  I've  got  more  sense  in  my  toe  nail  than 
you've  got  in  all  your  ugly  head !" 

I  saw  the  blow  coming,  but  was  not  quick  enough 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  19 

to  catch  or  turn  it  away.  In  a  moment  after,  old 
Jacobs  fell  with  a  heavy  jar  on  the  floor,  and  in  the 
next  instant  his  assailant  was  dropped  at  his  side.  I 
thought  the  men  in  the  bar-room,  all  of  whom  knew 
and  liked  Jacobs,  would  have  killed  the  man  who 
struck  him,  so  furious  was  their  assault  upon  him. 
While  he  was  struggling  with  them  and  showing 
the  strength  of  a  giant,  but  getting  dreadfully  pun 
ished  by  kicks  and  blows  on  head,  face  and  body,  I 
saw  him  draw  a  pistol  from  his  pocket  and  try  to 
cock  it.  Then  a  sharp  crack  rang  through  the  room, 
followed  by  two  more  in  quick  succession. 

The  stillness  of  death  followed,  broken  almost  in 
stantly  by  a  savage  oath  from  a  fellow-workman  of 
Jacobs,  who  kicked  the  stranger  in  his  side  with  al 
most  the  force  of  a  horse's  hoof.  I  heard  the  ribs 
crack.  The  pistol  fell  from  his  hand,  and  he  sank 
back  with  a  groan.  There  was  an  ashen  pallor  on 
his  face. 

"  Is  any  one  hurt  ?"  ran  now  from  lip  to  lip.  Hap 
pily,  the  bullets  had  done  no  harm.  Our  next  con 
cern  was  for  the  man  who  lay  unconscious  upon  the 
floor  with  his  ribs  broken  in. 

Work  like  this  is  always  bad  work  for  saloon  and 
tavern-keepers.  It  brings  them  into  public  notice  in 
a  way  they  desire  to  avoid.  In  most  cases  of  drunken 
rows  and  violence,  the  uproar  draws  in  a  crowd,  ac 
companied  by  police  officers.  Arrests  are  apt  to  be 
made,  and  indictments  and  appearances  in  court  often 
follow. 


2O  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

On  this  evening  the  storm  without  kept  the  street 
clear,  and  no  one  heard  the  pistol  shot  or  loud  con 
fusion  of  voices,  so  we  had  time  to  cover  up  our 
trouble  and  keep  it  out  of  the  papers.  The  man, 
still  insensible,  was  carried  up  stairs  and  laid  on  a 
bed  in  one  of  the  rooms.  After  a  little  while  he 
came  to,  and  we  learned  from  him  his  name  and 
residence.  He  proved  to  be  a  man  in  the  wholesale 
liquor  trade.  His  name  was  Spencer.  After  con 
sultation  it  was  decided  to  have  him  taken  to  his 
boarding-place  that  night,  which  was  done,  the  men 
who  had  beaten  him  in  anger  carrying  him  through 
the  storm  in  pity. 

As  for  old  Jacobs,  he  was  not  seriously  hurt,  but  a 
good  deal  scared.  After  taking  another  glass  of  ale 
he  went  home,  and  at  a  much  earlier  hour  than 
usual. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  evening  had  worn  on  until  it  was  nearly 
ten  o'clock,  the  heavy  storm  continuing.  The 
snow,  which  had  fallen  to  the  depth  of  several 
inches,  driven  by  eddying  winds,  was  piled  up  in 
some  places  several  feet  high.  Only  a  few  of  the 
men  who  took  Spencer  home  returned  that  night, 
and  by  ten  we  were  nearly  deserted. 

Among  those  who  still  remained  was  John  Ash 
ley,  the  foreman's  son,  and  he  had  drunk  so  much 
that  he  was  unable  to  walk  steadily.  I  was  trying 
to  persuade  him  to  go  home  with  a  journeyman  who 
worked  under  his  father  in  the  bindery,  and  who 
went  past  his  house,  when  I  heard  an  exclamation 
from  Lloyd.  It  was  full  of  pain  and  surprise. 

The  street  door  was  again  pushed  ajar  by  a 
woman's  small  white  hand.  Through  the  partial 
opening  I  could  see  a  woman's  face  and  form,  and 
beyond  her,  made  visible  by  a  street  lamp,  the  fast- 
falling  snow  and  its  ghostly  shroud  upon  everything. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  thrown  back,  and  the 
slender  form  of  a  girl,  pale  as  death,  stepped  a  few 
paces  inside.  Her  light,  abundant  hair  had  fallen 
over  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and  lay  about  them 
in  wet  and  tangled  masses. 

21 


22  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Father !  father  !  oh,  father !  don't  do  it,  father  I" 
she  cried  out  in  a  piteous  kind  of  wail,  like  one  in 
cruel  suffering. 

By  this  time  Lloyd  had  come  from  behind  the 
bar,  and  was  only  a  few  steps  from  the  girl,  when, 
looking  at  him  for  a  moment,  she  uttered  a  piercing 
cry,  and  turning,  fled  through  the  door  with  the 
fleetness  of  a  deer. 

"  Stop  her !"  he  cried  wildly,  "  stop  her !"  I  ran 
out,  Lloyd  following  quickly.  Just  as  I  reached  the 
pavement  I  saw  the  flutter  of  a  garment  at  the  cor 
ner  of  Harvey  street,  round  which  it  disappeared.  I 
sprang  forward,  but  when  I  reached  the  corner  no 
living  form  was  visible.  I  ran  to  the  next  corner, 
but  saw  no  one.  As  I  turned  from  the  baffled  pur 
suit,  Lloyd  came  up,  bareheaded,  as  I  was,  and  said 
huskily, 

"  My  God !  it's  Maggy !  What  does  it  mean  ?" 
The  name  of  God  was  often  on  his  lips,  but  never 
with  the  solemnity,  anguish  and  sense  of  helpless 
ness  with  which  it  was  then  uttered.  "  Has  she 
gone  mad  ?  Oh,  Hiram  !  and  out  in  such  a  night ! 
Did  you  see  which  way  she  went  ?" 

"  I  saw  her  go  like  a  flash  round  into  Harvey 
street,"  I  replied,  "  but  when  I  got  to  the  corner  she 
was  not  in  sight." 

We  ran  this  way  and  that  for  a  while,  fruitlessly, 
and  then  returned  for  our  hats  and  overcoats.  Leav 
ing  the  saloon  in  charge  of  our  bar-tender,  we  started 
out  again,  taking  different  ways — Lloyd,  that  in  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap,  23 

direction  of  his  home.  I  asked  all  the  policemen  I 
met — not  many  were  out  that  night — if  they  had 
seen  anything  of  a  young  girl  in  a  waterproof,  and 
with  only  a  handkerchief  over  her  head,  but  could 
gain  no  intelligence  of  her.  After  searching  about 
for  half  an  hour,  and  until  I  was  almost  stiff  with 
cold,  I  went  back  to  the  saloon,  or  "  The  Retreat," 
as  it  was  called.  As  I  turned  into  Harvey  street  I 
saw,  just  a  little  in  advance,  some  one  trying,  with 
difficulty,  to  make  head  against  the  storm  that  beat 
in  his  face.  He  staggered  from  side  to  side,  now 
coming  up  against  the  house,  and  now  swaying  to 
the  curbstone.  Just  as  I  reached  him  his  foot 
tripped  against  something,  and  he  pitched  headfore 
most  into  a  bank  of  snow.  I  waited  for  a  few 
moments  to  see  if  he  could  recover  himself.  But 
after  a  few  feeble  efforts  to  rise  he  lay  still  with  his 
face  downward. 

I  stooped,  and  taking  his  arm,  tried  to  help  him 
up,  but  he  lay  like  a  log. 

"  Come,  come,  sit  up !  You'll  freeze  to  death  !" 
I  said,  in  a  loud,  commanding  voice,  jerking  his  arm 
at  the  same  time. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Hiram !  Well,  you  needn't  pull  a 
fellow's  arm  off,"  growled  the  prostrate  man,  in  a 
thick,  drunken  voice. 

It  was  John  Ashley.  The  poor,  weak,  good- 
natured  fellow  had  taken  a  glass  too  much,  and  then 
started  for  home,  against  his  will,  as  I  afterward 
learned.  But  our  bar-keeper,  who  had  a  grudge 


24  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

against  him,  put  him  out  of  the  saloon  after  we  left, 
and  would  not  let  him  come  back.  So  he  started 
for  home  in  the  blinding  storm,  and  unless  I  had 
come  upon  him  as  I  did,  he  would  never,  I  fear,  have 
reached  his  father's  house. 

Nothing  was  left  for  me  to  do  but  get  him  home — 
a  distance  of  many  blocks — as  best  I  could.  So  I 
raised  him  by  main  strength  to  his  feet,  and  after 
steadying  him,  said, 

"  Come." 

"  Come  where  ?"  he  asked,  not  moving  a  step. 

"  Home.     I'm  going  to  take  you  home,"  I  said. 

"I'll  bet  you  a  drink  on  that!"  he  mumbled 
thickly,  and  then  broke  out  in  an  attempt  to  sing 
"  We  won't  go  home  till  morning." 

I  was  in  no  mood  for  exercising  patience,  so  I 
put  forth  my  strength  and  drew  him  along.  After 
his  feet  got  in  motion  he  kept  on  unresistingly.  At 
the  next  street  I  hoped  to  get  a  car  that  would  take 
us  near  his  residence,  but  the  snow  had  blocked  the 
track,  and  no  car  was  in  sight.  I  waited  for  a  while, 
when  a  policeman  came  up. 

"  Are  the  cars  running  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No ;  they  stopped  an  hour  since,"  he  replied, 
then,  as  he  recognized  me,  added  with  a  laugh, 

"  Taking  home  some  of  your  work,  I  see." 

"I  wish  he'd  stay  at  home,"  I  answered,  impa 
tiently.  "  Guess  I'll  have  to  turn  him  over  to  you, 
and  let  him  have  a  night  in  the  station-house." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  asked  the  policeman. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  25 

"  Oh,  it's  Ashley's  son,"  I  replied. 

"  Not  Ashley  at  the  bindery  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  wish  he'd  keep  his  boy  at  home." 

"  No,  sir ;  it  can't  be  done !"  said  the  policeman, 
speaking  strongly.  "  John's  got  to  be  taken  home. 
I'll  not  put  that  disgrace  on  his  father.  You've  made 
him  drunk,  and  now  you  must  take  care  of  him. 
Don't  let  him  get  into  a  station-house  to-night.  If 
you  do,  there'll  be  trouble.  He's  a  minor,  under 
stand." 

I  did  understand,  for  the  judge's  charge  to  the 
grand  jury  was  still  fresh  in  my  memory. 

"  You'll  have  to  give  me  a  lift,"  said  I. 

"  There's  no  '  have  to '  about  it,"  he  answered.  "  I'm 
on  my  beat,  and  can't  go  off  of  it,  if  I  cared  to." 

So  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  get  the  drunken 
boy  home  as  best  I  could.  It  took  me  nearly  an 
hour.  Two  or  three  times  he  fell  down,  when  it 
was  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  lift  him  up.  I  was 
completely  exhausted  and  out  of  temper  when  we 
reached  his  father's  house.  It  was  then  after  eleven 
o'clock.  A  light  burned  in  one  of  the  chambers  and 
in  the  hall. 

He  was  so  stupefied  with  liquor  and  cold  that  he 
could  not  stand  alone,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  I 
got  him  up  the  steps.  Then  I  squared  him  round 
and  leaned  him  with  his  back  against  the  door, 
saying,  in  a  low  voice, 

"  Steady,  now,  John  !     Steady !" 

As  soon  as  I  had  him  set  firmly,  I  gave  the  bell  a 

3 


26  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

violent  jerk  and  ran  down  the  steps,  waiting  a  little 
way  off  to  see  that  he  was  taken  in.  In  a  few 
moments  the  door  was  opened,  and  he  fell  heavily 
into  the  vestibule.  A  mother's  cry  of  pain  and 
terror  rang  out  upon  the  air.  Yes,  it  was  a  mother's 
cry ;  my  heart  told  me  that. 

I  hurried  away,  the  cry  ringing  in  my  ears  so  dis 
tinctly  that  it  seemed  to  be  coming  after  me,  and  as 
I  went  I  swore  that  John  Ashley  should  never  enter 
"  The  Retreat "  again. 

And  he  never  did.  But  I  am  ahead  in  my  story, 
and  must  go  back  a  little  in  order  that  the  reader 
may  not  only  know  how  I  came  into  this  wretched 
business,  but  something  of  the  characters  I  have 
brought  before  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  WAS  earning  fifteen  dollars  a  week  at  my  trade — 
might  have  earned  twenty  if  I  had  worked 
steadily,  but  would  have  been  no  better  off,  for  my 
pockets  had  holes  in  them  that  let  everything  run 
out.  I  was  not  careful  of  my  money,  but  spent  it 
freely,  and  for  the  most  part  foolishly.  I  was  fond  of 
company,  and  that  into  which  I  drifted  was  not  al 
ways  the  best  for  a  young  man.  Too  often  the  even 
ings  found  me  in  a  drinking-saloon — not  that  I  cared 
much  for  liquor,  but  I  met  good  fellows  there,  and 
passed  the  time  agreeably. 

There  worked  beside  me  in  the  bindery — my  trade 
was  that  of  a  bookbinder — a  man  named  Tom  Lloyd. 
He  was  ten  or  twelve  years  older  than  I,  and  had  a 
wife  and  four  children.  I  was  single.  Taking  one 
week  with  another,  Lloyd's  wages  did  not  reach  an 
average  of  over  sixteen  dollars,  though  he  could 
easily  have  earned  from  eighteen  to  twenty.  Scarcely 
a  week  passed  that  he  did  not  lose  a  day  or  an  after 
noon.  He  was  always  complaining  about  hard  work 
and  poor  pay,  and  never  received  his  wages  on  Sat 
urday  night  without  grumbling  because  the  amount 
was  so  small.  He  was  not  what  was  called  a  drink- 

27 


28  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

ing  man,  though  he  took  his  glass  of  beer  two  or 
three  times  a  day. 

As  his  pockets  were  generally  empty  by  Monday 
or  Tuesday,  he  often  borrowed  of  me  small  sums,  to 
be  returned  on  Saturday  night.  At  first  these  were 
promptly  repaid,  but  after  a  while  only  a  part  was 
made  up,  and  a  promise  given  to  square  all  by  the 
next  pay-day.  He  rarely  kept  his  word. 

"  Never  mind,"  I  usually  replied  to  his  half-shame 
faced  apologies  ;  "  let  it  go  over  another  week." 

"  I'm  so  dreadfully  poor,"  he  used  to  say  some 
times.  "  How  we  are  all  to  keep  soul  and  body  to 
gether  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  Six  mouths  to  feed ! 
Just  think  of  that!" 

I  pitied  and  forgave  him  all  he  owed  me  whenever 
he  talked  after  this  fashion.  Six  mouths  to  feed,  and 
I  had  only  one,  yet  Saturday  usually  found  my 
pockets  as  empty  as  Tom  Lloyd's. 

Mrs.  Lloyd  was  a  clever  sort  of  woman,  and  man 
aged  to  do  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  at  home,  and 
yet  keep  herself  and  house  looking  tidy.  She  had 
been  very  well  educated  in  one  of  the  public  schools, 
and  was  rather  intelligent.  I  liked  both  herself  and 
husband  so  well  that  I  often  called  in  on  Sunday  af 
ternoon  and  took  tea  with  them. 

If  Lloyd  had  worked  as  faithfully  and  economized 
as  carefully  as  his  wife,  their  income  would  have 
been  larger,  and  they  would  not  have  heard  the  wolf 
growling  as  often  as  they  did.  As  it  was,  the  signs 
of  poverty  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  at 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  29 

home  in  many  ways.  The  furniture  and  carpets 
were  growing  old  and  dingy,  and  could  not  be  re 
placed,  clothing  was  poor  and  scant,  and  every 
thing  was  getting  a  sort  of  pinched  look.  Mrs. 
Lloyd's  face  often  wore  a  dreary,  anxious  expression. 

And  yet  Tom  Lloyd  would  drop  out  a  day  for 
fishing,  gunning  or  some  other  recreation  almost 
every  week.  This  recreation  always  acted  in  the 
wrong  direction,  as  the  day  that  followed  found 
him  so  disinclined  for  work,  either  bodily  or  men 
tally,  that  ten  hours  rarely  counted  in  his  favor  on 
the  wages  book  for  more  than  five. 

So  it  went  on  until  little  debts  here  and  there  be 
gan  to  grow  troublesome.  Duns  waited  for  him  to 
come  home  at  meal-times,  or  haunted  him  at  the 
bindery.  He  put  them  off,  and  promised  without 
hope  of  being  true  to  his  word.  Strangely  enough, 
all  this  failed  to  keep  him  more  diligently  at  his 
post.  The  fact  was,  he  had  an  idle  vein  in  his 
make-up.  He  did  not  like  work. 

"  I  was  born  to  be  a  gentleman/'  he  would  some 
times  say,  meaning  by  a  gentleman  one  who  had 
nothing  to  do. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  we  were  taking  a  walk  to 
gether.  It  was  warm,  and  we  were  thirsty. 

"  Come,  let's  have  a  drink,"  said  I  as  we  came  in 
sight  of  a  showy-looking  saloon  with  LAGER  BEER  in 
large  gilt  letters  above  the  door  and  on  the  window. 

"  I'm  agreeable,"  was  the  ready  answer.  So  we 
went  in  and  drank  each  a  mug  of  beer. 

3* 


3O  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Do  you  know  that  chap  ?"  asked  Lloyd  -as  we 
passed  out  of  the  saloon. 

"  No,"  I  replied,  turning,  as  I  spoke,  to  read  the 
name  on  the  window.  It  was  "  JOHN  GLUM." 

"  Well,  I  do,  then.  I  didn't  know  till  now  what 
had  become  of  him.  He's  got  a  tip-top  place  here, 
and  no  mistake." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  He  was,  when  I  knew  him,  one  of  the  pooi  tools 
in  Johnson's  bindery.  He  never  earned  over  seven 
or  eight  dollars  a  week." 

"  He  makes  more  than  that  a  day,  judging  from 
what  we  saw  just  now,"  I  replied. 

Lloyd  made  no  answer,  but  walked  along  for  some 
distance  silent  and  with  his  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"  By  George,  Hiram  !"  he  exclaimed,  at  last,  lifting 
his  eyes  and  looking  at  me  with  a  new  and  excited 
expression  on  his  face ;  "  that  fellow  has  put  a  new 
idea  into  my  head.  He  isn't  the  poor  tool  we  all 
thought  him." 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  I,  laughing. 

"  A  gold  eagle  wouldn't  buy  them,  if  that  were  to 
lose  them,"  he  answered,with  a  strange  earnestness  of 
manner  that  surprised  me.  Then  the  new  idea  dawned 
upon  my  own  mind.  I  understood  what  he  meant 

"  It's  a  blamed  sight  easier  than  work,  Hiram." 

"  Drawing  beer  and  mixing  punches  and  cock 
tails  ?"  I  queried. 

"  Yes,  and  pays  better,"  he  said,  with  emphasis.  I 
could  feel  in  his  voice  the  thrill  of  an  unusual  excite- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  31 

ment.  The  blood  was  warming  up  his  cold  face. 
Light  glittered  in  his  eyes. 

"  Not  a  very  reputable  sort  of  business,"  I  rejoined. 

"  Reputable !  Faugh  !  It  pays,  and  if  you  have 
money,  you're  reputable  enough.  A  fig  for  all  that !" 
and  he  snapped  his  fingers  sharply.  "  Who  cares 
for  me  now?  Is  Tom  Lloyd  anybody?  Nothing 
but  a  poor  miserable  hack  trying  to  keep  soul  and 
body  together.  If  I  were  to  fall  sick  to-morrow, 
who  would  look  after  me  and  the  children?  No 
body  !  We'd  be  packed  off  to  the  almshouse.  Rep 
utable  !" 

As  he  said  this  a  handsome  phaeton  with  two  fine 
horses  went  dashing  by. 

"  Do  you  know  that  party  ?"  he  asked,  flinging  out 
his  arm  in  an  elated  manner. 

"  No,"  I  replied. 

"  Billy  Logan  and  his  two  daughters.  Billy  keeps 
the  '  Logan  House '  in  Briar  street.  Six  years  ago 
he  peddled  stationery,  but  that  sort  of  thing  was  too 
slow  for  him,  so  he  set  up  a  bar  in  a  small  way.  I 
don't  believe  he  had  ten  dollars'  worth  of  liquor  in 
his  shop  when  he  opened.  You  see  what  he  is  now." 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  interested.  A  poor  ped 
dler  transformed  in  six  years  to  a  gentleman  sitting 
in  his  elegant  phaeton  behind  a  span  of  spanking 
black  horses! 

There  was  no  such  luck  for  a  poor  journeyman 
bookbinder.  A  feeling  of  envy  and  dissatisfaction 
crept  into  my  soul. 


32  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  That's  respectability,  you  see,"  Lloyd  went  on. 
"  Money's  the  go ;  people  don't  ask  how  you  make 
it.  All  right  if  you  have  it,  and  the  more  you  get 
to  spend  and  splurge  on,  the  more  respectable  you 
are.  It's  the  way  of  things  in  this  world.  Do  you 
see  that  elegant  house  over  yonder?  Splendid 
enough  for  a  prince." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  do  you  know  who  lives  there  ?  I  can  tell 
you  :  that  house  belongs  to  Hart  Hartley,  Esq.  He 
made  all  his  money  by  liquor — not  by  selling  it  glass 
by  ,glass  over  a  counter  to  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry. 
He  isn't  one  of  your  John  Glums  and  Billy  Logans, 
but  a  manufacturer  and  wholesale  dealer.  Why,  it 
is  said  that  he  furnishes  liquor  to  half  the  saloons  in 
our  city,  and  piles  up  his  hundred  thousand  dollars 
every  year.  Now,  figure  me  out  this,  Hiram  Jones  : 
what  makes  Hart  Hartley's  business  more  respect 
able  than  John  Glum's  ?  If  there  is  anything  dis 
reputable  in  selling  a  glass  of  beer  or  whisky  for 
one  man  to  drink,  is  it  any  the  less  disreputable  to 
sell  a  keg  or  barrel  for  a  hundred  or  a  thousand  men 
to  drink  ?  Maybe  you  can  see  the  difference,  but 
my  head  isn't  clear  enough." 

I  was  a  great  deal  more  interested  in  what  Lloyd 
was  saying  than  I  affected  to  be.  A  new  line  of 
thought  had  been  opened,  and  my  mind  was  busy 
looking  over  the  ground  it  presented.  I  was  not  a 
bit  fonder  of  work  than  Lloyd.  Ease  and  self-indul 
gence  came  very  natural  to  me,  and  work  was  ac- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  33 

cepted  only  as  a  necessity.  I  had  cast  about  a  great 
many  times  to  see  if  I  could  not  get  into  something 
better — that  is,  something  that  required  less  work 
and  paid  more — than  bookbinding.  But  my  education 
had  been  defective  ;  I  had  no  knowledge  of  accounts, 
and  was  a  poor  penman.  Shut  away  from  general 
business  for  years  in  a  bindery,  and  with  little  enter 
prise  or  ambition  to  excel,  I  was  not  really  good  for 
anything  outside  of  my  trade,  and  so  I  had  delved 
along,  spending  as  I  earned,  and  cherishing  no  hope 
of  rising  above  the  life  of  a  journeyman. 

The  example  of  John  Glum,  once  a  "  poor  tool" 
of  a  bookbinder,  but  now  gathering  in  money  like 
dirt,  had  set  my  thoughts  going  in  a  new  direction, 
but  I  shrunk  back  with  an  inner  feeling  of  repulsion 
at  the  idea  of  standing  behind  a  counter  and  serving 
out  liquor  when  that  way  of  bettering  myself  was 
clearly  presented. 

It  was  not  reputable,  and  for  all  that  Lloyd  said 
and  I  tried  to  think,  I  could  not  make  it  out  so.  I 
had  always  felt  that  a  man  must  lose  self-respect, 
be  very  low  in  his  instinct  or  have  an  utter  disre 
gard  of  others'  well-being  when  he  consented  to  be 
a  bar-tender  or  keep  a  drinking-saloon.  I  had  never 
seen  any  good  come  of  the  business,  but  knew  of  a 
great  deal  of  harm. 

Drawing  a  deep  breath  in  an  effort  to  throw  off 
the  weight  a  conflict  of  feeling  had  produced,  I  said, 
in  answer  to  Lloyd's  last  remark,  "  One  is  as  bad  as 
the  other.  Your  Hartleys  and  your  Logans  are  all 

c 


34  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

in  the  same  boat — all  engaged  in  the  work  of  making 
men  worse  instead  of  better." 

"  Pshaw !"  exclaimed  my  companion,  with  a  good 
deal  of  contempt  in  his  voice.  "  Men  will  drink,  and 
if  they  do  so  to  excess,  they  have  nobody  but  them 
selves  to  blame.  The  saloon-keeper  only  supplies  a 
common  want.  His  business  is  just  as  honest  and 
respectable  as  his  neighbor's.  No  one  is  obliged  to 
buy  his  wares.  If  I  get  thirsty  on  a  hot  day  like 
this,  the  man  who  sells  me  a  cool  glass  of  ale  is  my 
benefactor.  He  has  done  me  good.  It  is  no  fault 
of  his  if  I  should  drink  at  a  dozen  different  places 
and  make  a  beast  of  myself." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  I  replied,  backing  away 
from  my  view  of  the  case,  and  falling  in  with  what 
he  said.  Indeed,  I  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  myself 
for  the  decided  way  in  which  I  had  spoken  of  liquor- 
sellers,  classing  them  as  I  had  with  evil-doers. 

"  It's  just  as  fair  and  honest  a  way  of  getting  a 
living  as  any  other,"  reiterated  my  companion. 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  I  answered,  trying  to  push  back 
all  thoughts  to  the  contrary. 

"  I  know  it  is ;"  and  Lloyd  clenched  his  fist  and 
threw  it  out  before  him  violently.  It  was  a  way 
he  had  of  emphasizing  his  words.  "Anyhow,"  he 
added,  in  a  cold,  half-sneering  tone,  "  it's  the  easiest 
way  to  get  along  in  the  world  for  such  poor  devils 
as  you  and  me,  and  if  I  had  a  hundred  or  two  dol 
lars  to  begin  with,  I'd  follow  suit  to-morrow.  As  to 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  35 

the  right  or  wrong  of  the  matter,  it  wouldn't  trouble 
me  a  bit." 

"  If  a  man  doesn't  look  out  for  himself,"  said  I, 
"  he'll  not  find  any  one  to  do  it  for  him." 

"  Of  course  not,"  answered  Lloyd ;  "  every  man 
for  himself  in  this  world." 

"  Yes,  and  if  every  man  took  care  of  himself,"  I 
rejoined,  "  the  world  would  be  a  very  different  affair 
to-day  from  what  it  is." 

"  Exactly.  And  now  let  us  see  if  we  cannot  take 
better  care  of  ourselves  than  we  have  done  in  days 
gone  by.  What  say  you  ?" 

"  I'm  ready  for  almost  anything,"  I  replied,  "  ex 
cept  stealing." 

"  How  much  can  you  raise?"  asked  my  companion. 

"  Toward  setting  up  a  grog-shop  ?"  I  could  not 
help  betraying  in  my  voice  something  of  the  con 
tempt  I  felt  for  the  thing  I  named. 

"  Yes,  a  grog-shop,  if  you  will ;  I  am  not  particular 
as  to  what  you  call  it.  How  much  can  you  raise  ?" 

"  Haven't  a  dollar  ahead,"  said  I. 

Lloyd  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  dis 
appointed. 

"  Can't  you  borrow  a  hundred  dollars  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Will  a  hundred  dollars  be  enough  ?"  I  queried. 

"I  don't  believe  John  Glum  had  twenty.  But 
then  we  couldn't  afford  to  begin  on  a  keg  of  beer 
and  a  quart  of  whisky,  as  he  did.  I  have  six 
mouths  to  feed,  you  know.  If  we  go  into  the  busi 
ness,  it  must  be  in  a  larger  way." 


36  Three  Years  fn  a  Man-Trap. 

"  How  many  saloons  and  whisky-shops  do  you 
think  there  are  in  this  city  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  have  heard  it  set  down  as  from  five  to  six 
thousand,"  he  replied. 

"  Great  guns  !     Can  that  be  really  so  ?" 

"  I  wouldn't  wonder.     You  find  them  everywhere." 

"  I'm  afraid  there's  no  room  for  another.  Where 
is  our  custom  to  come  from  ?"  I  said,  with  an  invol 
untary  depression  of  voice  that  betrayed  the  interest 
I  was  taking  in  the  new  scheme  for  bettering  our 
fortunes. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  that,"  Lloyd  replied. 

"  Well  ?     What  are  your  thoughts  worth  ?" 

"  A  great  deal.  You  get  the  money  to  start  with, 
and  I'll  find  the  custom." 

"Where?" 

"  There  are  from  fifty  to  sixty  men  and  boys,  all 
told,  in  our  bindery  and  printing-office,  and  there  is 
not  a  respectable  saloon  within  a  block  of  the  build 
ing.  More  than  half  the  men  take  from  two  to 
three  glasses  a  day  now,  some  going  out  for  it,  as  we 
do,  and  some  sending  the  boys  to  bring  them  lager 
or  ale  on  the  sly.  Now,  if  we  can  find  a  house  close 
to  the  building — closer  than  anything  else — and  fit 
it  up  nicely,  we  will  have  two  advantages — a  nearer 
and  more  attractive  place  and  the  good-will  of  all 
the  men." 

"  Capital !  you've  hit  the  nail !"  I  responded,  quite 
lifted  up  by  this  view  of  the  case.  "  We  ought  to 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  37 

sell  two  or  three  hundred  glasses  a  day  to  the  bindery 
and  printing-office  alone." 

"  And  two  or  three  hundred  more  every  evening 
to  the  printers  who  are  on  at  night,  and  to  our  friends 
in  the  bindery  who  would  drop  in  to  pass  away  time, 
to  say  nothing  of  transient  custom.  There  never 
was  a  better  opening  than  this." 

"Splendid!"  I  rejoined,  entering  warmly  into  the 
scheme.  "And  we'll  do  it." 

"  You  can  get  the  money  ?" 

"That  isn't  so  clear;  and  besides,  a  hundred 
dollars  won't  be  enough.  It  will  cost  more  than 
that  for  counters,  shelves,  signs,  furniture  and  the 
like,  to  say  nothing  of  the  stock  of  liquors.  But 
'  where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way.' " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  had  arrived  by  this  time  at  Lloyd's  house. 
I  went  in  and  stayed  to  tea,  as  I  often  did 
on  Sunday  evenings. 

There  were  four  children  in  the  family.  The  old 
est  was  a  daughter  named  Maggy,  then  just  turned 
of  seventeen.  She  was  a  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  girl, 
and  very  pretty,  but  peculiar.  I  say  peculiar,  mean 
ing  that  she  was  unlike  the  ordinary  run  of  girls  in 
her  station.  Her  manners  were  reserved  and  quiet. 
She  talked  but  little,  and  you  never  heard  her  say  a 
weak  or  foolish  thing.  Always  when  she  spoke 
you  saw  just  a  little  mounting  of  the  blood  to  her 
face,  and  sometimes  a  flashing  change  in  her  eyes. 
She  had  entered  the  normal  school  a  year  before, 
and  was  perfecting  herself  for  a  teacher. 

Thomas,  a  very  fine  boy  a  little  over  fourteen,  came 
next.  He  had  just  gone  into  the  bindery  as  an 
apprentice,  and  was  earning  three  dollars  a  week, 
which  was  a  great  help.  Harvey  and  Willy,  the  two 
younger  children,  were  aged  respectively  eight  and 
five. 

There  was  a  visitor  at  Lloyd's  whom  I  had  never 
seen  there  before — a  well-dressed,  clean,  bright-look- 

33 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  39 

ing  young1  man,  who  had  called  to  see  Maggy.  I 
sa\v  her  color  rise  and  her  eyes  quiver  and  brighten 
as  sne  introduced  the  young  man  to  her  father  as 
Mr.  Watson.  Lloyd  met  him  with  a  coldness  of 
manner  that  I  scarcely  understood,  and  I  could  see 
that  Maggy  was  hurt  and  disappointed.  The  young 
man  felt  the  coldness,  and  showed  a  little  embarrass 
ment.  He  did  not  stay  long  after  we  came  in.  Mag 
gy  went  to  the  door  with  him,  and  stood  talking  on 
the  step  for  several  minutes.  On  her  return  her 
father  said,  a  little  roughly,  at  which  I  was  surprised, 
for  he  was  usually  very  tender  and  considerate  in  his 
way  of  speaking  to  Maggy, 

"  Who  is  that  fellow  ?" 

A  deep  color  came  into  Maggy's  face,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  answered  with  a  stifled 
tremor  in  her  voice, 

"  He's  one  of  the  teachers  in  our  school." 

"  Indeed !"  Lloyd  did  not  conceal  the  surprise 
this  gave  him.  "  One  of  your  teachers,  ha  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  He's  a  young-looking  chap  to  be  a  teacher." 

No  reply  was  made  to  this,  and  we  all  sat  silent 
for  some  time.  I  was  looking  at  Lloyd,  and  saw  a 
shadow  creeping  over  his  face,  and  I  don't  think 
I  was  wrong  in  my  guess  at  the  cause.  If  so  respect 
able  a  person  as  a  teacher  in  the  normal  school 
should  take  a  fancy  to  Maggy,  there  would  come 
trouble  in  the  household  about  the  new  business, 
should  Lloyd  conclude  to  go  into  it.  Maggy  would 


4O  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

feel  it  to  be  a  disgrace,  and  the  young  man,  if  he 
were  really  taking  a  fancy  to  her,  would  hardly  con 
tinue  his  attentions  after  it  became  known  that  her 
father  kept  a  drinking-house. 

Maggy  and  her  mother  soon  went  out  of  the  little 
front  room  or  parlor,  as  they  called  it  sometimes,  to 
look  after  the  supper,  and  Lloyd  and  I  drew  together 
to  talk  in  undertones  about  the  matter  uppermost  in 
both  of  our  minds.  Thomas,  the  oldest  boy,  was 
reading  in  a  Sunday-school  library  book  brought 
home  that  day,  and  we  talked  low,  so  that  he  might 
not  be  attracted  to  what  we  were  saying. 

"  I'm  in  dead  earnest  about  this  thing,"  said  Lloyd 
as  soon  as  we  were  enough  alone  to  be  able  to  talk 
freely.  There  was  a  kind  of  relief  in  his  voice,  as  if 
he  had  been  restraining  himself.  I  noticed  a  hard 
ness  in  his  face  not  usual  in  its  expression,  and  a 
fierce,  halt-defiant  look  in  his  eye — a  sort  of  eager, 
awaking  cruelty — that  was  altogether  new  to  me. 
"  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  it  grows  on  me," 
he  added. 

"  Just  the  way  I  am  feeling  about  it,"  was  my 
reply. 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  glass  of  ale  or  a  drink  of 
spirits  costs  ?"  he  asked. 

I  did  not,  but  I  was  very  sure  the  profit  was 
large. 

"  It's  nearly  all  profit,  or  I'm  mistaken,"  said 
Lloyd.  "  Let's  see.  How  shall  we  find  out?  Ah  ! 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  41 

It's  just  come  to  me.     There's  Perry  Flint.     He  kept 
bar  once." 

"  Who  is  Perry  Flint  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Don't  you  know  old  Perry  ?  He's  been  a  hard 
case  in  his  time.  Used  to  drink  like  a  fish.  He  was 
in  a  good  business  down  on  the  wharf  some  years 
ago,  I'm  told,  and  right  well  off,  but  got  broken  up 
somehow,  and  was  never  able  to  get  on  his  feet 
again.  He  works  around,  doing  most  anything. 
Everybody  knows  '  Old  Perry.'  " 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Round  in  Bell's  court." 

"  Very  well.     Let's  hunt  him  up." 

So  round  to  Perry  Flint's  we  went  as  soon  as  tea 
was  over.  He  was  a  gray- haired  old  man,  with  a 
worn-down  look,  such  as  you  see  in  persons  who 
take  no  care  of  themselves.  His  face  bore  the  marks 
of  long  dissipation,  and  his  voice  was  deep  and 
husky,  as  though  he  were  suffering  from  a  cold. 
Any  one  who  has  heard  that  peculiar  voice  knows 
it  as  the  sure  sign  of  a  hard  drinker. 

"Why,  bless  us,  Mr.  Lloyd,  is  that  you?"  he 
exclaimed  as  we  entered  the  poor-looking  room  in 
which  he  lived. 

"  Yes,  it's  me,  Perry,  and  this  is  my  friend  Jones. 
We  work  in  the  same  place,"  returned  Lloyd. 

"  Oh !  ah !  At  the  bindery  round  in  Harvey 
street  ?" 

"  Yes,  at  the  bindery.     Where's  the  old  lady  ?" 
"  Gone  into   one  of  the  neighbor's.     Here,  take 

4* 


42  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

seats,  gentlemen.  Not  much  of  a  place  for  company, 
but  it's  the  best  I  have ;"  and  the  old  man  bustled 
round,  handing  us  each  a  chair. 

"We've  called  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  Perry," 
said  Lloyd,  coming  at  once  to  the  subject  of  our 
visit. 

The  old  man's  eyes  brightened,  and  a  pleased  ex 
pression  drifted  into  his  face. 

"At  your  service,  gentlemen,"  he  replied,  and  then 
waited  for  Lloyd  to  open  his  mind. 

"  You've  kept  bar  ?"  Lloyd  was  in  no  mood  to 
beat  around  the  bush,  and  so  put  direct  the  question 
he  wished  answered. 

"  Yes,  a  little  in  my  time,"  answered  Flint. 

"  So  I  thought.     How  long  did  you  keep  bar  ?" 

"  Off  and  on,  a  good  while." 

"In  the  city?" 

"  Yes ;  I  kept  bar  at  the  Eagle  Hotel  more  than  a 
year." 

"Then  you're  our  man,"  said  Lloyd,  "and  we 
want  to  have  a  good  talk.  But  this  is  not  just  the 
place,  you  see ;  the  old  lady  might  drop  in  upon  us." 

"  It  wouldn't  do  to  say  '  bar '  if  she  were  around," 
answered  Flint,  giving  his  shoulders  a  shrug. 

Just  as  this  was  said  a  hand  pushed  the  outside 
door  open  gently,  and  an  old  woman  entered.  She 
was  small  and  had  a  thin,  pale  face,  mild,  almost 
tender,  gray  eyes,  and  a  sad,  sweet  mouth.  I  had 
seen  such  faces  in  pictures,  but  never  before  just 
such  a  living  face.  Her  dress  was  a  rusty  black 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  43 

bombazine  or  alpaca,  I  don't  know  which,  but  it 
was  clean  and  fitted  her  neatly.  A  white  handker 
chief,  folded  corner-wise,  was  drawn  around  her 
neck,  and  she  wore  a  plain  white  cap.  Poor  and  old 
and  humble  as  she  was,  you  felt  that  she  was  a  lady 
and  out  of  her  place. 

A  look  of  surprise  came  into  her  face  when  she 
saw  us — surprise  mingled  with  uneasiness. 

"  Mr.  Lloyd  and  Mr.  Jones,  Mrs.  Flint,"  said  the 
old  man,  introducing  us. 

"  Good-evening,  gentlemen."  She  spoke  in  a  low, 
soft  voice  and  with  a  grace  of  manner  such  as  you 
do  not  often  meet.  But  I  could  see  a  questioning 
disquiet  in  her  eyes,  that  were  reading  Lloyd's  face 
and  mine  with  a  penetrating  scrutiny.  I  began  to 
feel  embarrassed  and  ill  at  ease. 

"  A  pleasant  evening,"  I  remarked. 

"  Pleasant,  but  warm,"  she  replied.  What  a  sweet 
old  voice  it  was !  The  tender  gray  eyes  looked  at 
me  with  a  steadiness  that  I  could  not  endure.  I  had 
to  drop  my  own  to  the  floor ;  when  I  lifted  them 
again,  I  found  that  she  was  still  reading  my  counte 
nance,  and  the  shadow  that  was  stealing  over  hers 
told  me  that  she  was  not  satisfied  with  what  she 
found  there. 

We  did  not  remain  long  after  Mrs.  Flint  came  in, 
nor  ventured,  while  we  stayed,  to  make  even  the 
remotest  allusion  to  the  purport  of  our  visit.  When 
we  left,  Flint,  without  putting  on  his  hat,  walked 
with  us  to  the  end  of  the  court. 


44  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Come  round  to  the  '  Shades/  "  said  Lloyd  as  we 
parted. 

"  This  evening  ?"  queried  Flint. 

"Yes;  you'll  find  us  there." 

"  All  right ;  I'll  soon  be  on  hand." 

We  waited  at  the  "  Shades,"  a  tavern  close  by,  for 
over  fifteen  minutes  before  the  old  man  came  in. 
His  step  was  slow  and  his  face  grave.  A  change 
had  passed  over  him. 

"  I'm  here,  gentlemen,  as  I  promised,"  he  said. 
"  Perry  Flint  always  keeps  his  word," 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  old  boy  ?  You  look  as 
sober  as  if  you'd  just  come  out  of  a  prayer-meeting;" 
and  Lloyd  put  his  hand  familiarly  on  Flint's  shoulder. 

"  Maybe  I  have,"  was  the  response,  made  without 
a  change  of  countenance. 

"Oh!"  returned  Lloyd,  with  a  covert  sneer;  "the 
old  lady—" 

"Take  care  now!"  A  fire  seemed  to  blaze  out 
of  the  old  man's  eyes.  "  Keep  your  hands  off  of 
her." 

I  saw  Lloyd's  mistake,  and  tried  to  correct  it. 

"  Yes,"  I  broke  in  warmly,  "  keep  your  hands  off 
of  her.  A  dearer  old  lady  than  your  wife,  Mr. 
Flint,  I  have  never  seen.  I  don't  wonder  that  you 
say,  *  Keep  your  hands  off  of  her/  " 

"  You  are  right,  my  boy,"  Flint  responded,  turn 
ing  to  me  with  a  look  of  pleasure  in  his  marred  face. 
"  She  is  a  dear  old  lady — yes,  a  lady  ! — and  too  good 
for  me.  Oh  dear !  the  trouble  I've  brought  on  her !" 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  45 

There  was  genuine  regret  in  the  deep,  rattling 
voice  of  the  old  man,  that  sunk  and  trembled  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Come,"  said  Lloyd,  taking  hold  of  Flint's  arm ; 
"  let's  go  over  to  that  corner,  where  we  can  be  more 
alone." 

Flint  went  passively,  and  we  took  our  places  at  a 
table. 

"Three  glasses  of  ale,"  Lloyd  said  to  a  waiter 
who  came  up  as  we  sat  down. 

"No,  thank  you ;  none  for  me,"  said  Flint,  with  an 
upward  side  motion  of  the  hand,  like  one  trying  to 
ward  off  something.  I  looked  at  him,  and  saw  a 
struggle  in  his  face. 

"  Nonsense !  Three  glasses,  waiter,"  spoke  out 
Lloyd. 

And  the  waiter  left  us  to  fill  the  order. 

"  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Lloyd,  I  don't  want  anything," 
said  the  old  man ;  "  I  didn't  come  here  to  drink.  I 
said  I  wouldn't  touch  a  drop,  and  I  won't.  So  there, 
now !" 

His  manner  was  nervous. 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind."  I  spoke  soothingly.  "  You 
needn't  take  anything  if  you  don't  want  to.  This  is 
a  free  country,  you  know." 

"  Of  course  it  is.  I  haven't  taken  a  drop  for  nigh 
on  to  three  weeks.  You  see,  I've  sworn  off." 

"Haven't  taken  the  pledge?"  There  was  just 
enough  of  a  sneer  in  Lloyd's  voice  to  be  annoying. 

"  No,  but  I  'most  wish  I  had." 


46  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

I  was  struck  by  the  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered. 
It  was  that  of  one  who  felt  himself  in  danger. 

Three  foaming  glasses  of  ale  were  set  down  upon 
the  table.  The  old  man  turned  his  face  away.  I 
took  up  one  of  them,  and  Lloyd  another.  After  we 
had  each  of  us  taken  a  deep  drink,  Lloyd,  as  he 
removed  the  glass  from  his  lips,  said, 

"That's  splendid  liquor;  don't  know  when  I've 
tasted  so  fine  a  glass  of  ale." 

Flint  sat  very  still,  with  his  eyes  turned  away  from 
the  glass,  which  had  been  placed  right  before  him  on 
the  table.  I  saw  that  a  struggle  was  going  on  be 
tween  appetite  and  resolution,  and  I  had  little  doubt 
as  to  which  would  conquer.  I  could  not  but  feel 
pity  for  the  poor  old  man,  and  regret  for  having 
brought  him  into  temptation. 

"  Don't  let  that  glass  of  good  liquor  spoil,"  said 
Lloyd.  "  See,  the  bead  is  going  off*.  Take  it,  man, 
quick,  or  it  will  be  as  flat  as  dish-water." 

The  smell  of  hops  and  malt  was  in  the  old  man's 
nostrils.  His  morbid  thirst,  irrepressible  in  its  crav 
ing,  was  too  strong  for  one  so  weak  in  moral  force. 

There  was  a  pause,  a  silence,  a  waiting.  I  don't 
know  why  I  felt  as  I  did,  but  there  came  a  heavy 
pressure  on  my  breast ;  I  could  hardly  draw  in  air 
enough  in  breathing,  it  was  so  heavy.  Then  I  saw 
the  weak  old  man  reach  out  and  take  the  glass.  He 
raised  it  to  his  lips  slowly,  but  drank  with  the  full 
draughts  of  a  man  long  athirst.  I  was  sorry  for 
him;  I  could  not  help  it.  But  I  have  seen  sad- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  47 

der  things  than  that  since  then  without  a  touch  of 
pity. 

"  I  thought  you'd  come  to  it,"  said  Lloyd,  with  a 
low,  ill-sounding  laugh,  as  Flint  set  down  the  glass, 
which  he  had  emptied  before  taking  it  from  his  lips, 
"  Good  liquor,  that !" 

The  old  man  did  not  reply,  but  sat  very  still,  as  if 
in  a  maze.  I  watched  his  face,  as  I  had  done  before. 
It  was  half  a  puzzle  to  me. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  like  one  coming  out  of  a  dream — 
"yes,  it  is  good  liquor." 

"  And  you  pretended  you  didn't  want  it.  But  I 
knew  better." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  it's  done,  and  can't  be  helped. 
And  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  What  is  in  the 
wind  ?"  His  manner  changed  entirely.  The  ale  had 
worked  a  revolution. 

"  How  much  do  you  suppose  that  glass  of  ale  cost 
the  landlord?"  asked  Lloyd. 

"  About  two  cents  and  a  half — maybe  three  cents," 
replied  Flint. 

"  I  guessed  as  much,"  was  returned.  "  Three 
cents,  and  the  landlord  gets  ten." 

"Yes;  they  make  money  hand  over  fist,  these 
chaps,"  said  Flint 

"Seven  cents  a  glass  will  do,  Hiram."  Lloyd 
spoke  with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction  in  his  voice. 
"  A  hundred  glasses,  seven  dollars.  That  isn't  bad, 
is  it?" 

"  Oh,  they  make  that  easy,"  spoke  out  Flint,  his 


48  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

hoarse,  deep,  rattling  voice  sounding  out  into  the 
bar-room. 

"  Hu-s-h !"  and  Lloyd  put  his  finger  to  his  lips. 
"Tisn't  none  of  their  business  what  we're  talking 
about." 

"  Beg  pardon,"  said  Flint ;  "  didn't  mean  to  talk 
so  loud,  but  my  old  shaky  voice  runs  off  with  me 
sometimes." 

"  Do  they  make  as  much  on  spirits  ?"  now  asked 
Lloyd. 

"  That's  according  to  how  they  do  it.  Some  of 
'em  make  a  good  deal  more.  We  used  to  sell,  at 
the  Eagle,  a  tip-top  brandy  at  fifteen  cents  a  glass 
that  didn't  cost  much,  if  anything,  over  three  or 
four." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  Lloyd. 

"  Fact !     We  made  it  ourselves." 

"Made  it?" 

"  Certain.  You  can  make  any  kind — gin,  brandy, 
rum  or  just  what  you  please.  We  had  a  book  at 
the  Eagle  that  told  all  about  it." 

"  How  did  you  make  the  brandy  you  sold  at  fif 
teen  cents  a  glass  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Well,  you  see,  we  got  four  gallons  of  sweet 
liquor — " 

"  What  is  sweet  liquor  ?"  I  asked. 

"Sweet  liquor?  It's  what  they  call  rectified 
spirits,  I  believe." 

"Well,  goon." 

"  We  took  four  gallons  of  sweet  liquor  that  cost 


Three   Years  in  a  Mart-Trap.  49 

us  a  dollar  and  three-quarters  a  gallon.  That  is 
seven  dollars.  Then  we  bought  a  gallon  of  brandy 
for  eight  dollars,  and  mixed  them  all  together,  add 
ing  something  to  make  the  color  rich  and  bring  out 
the  flavor.  So  we  had  five  gallons  of  liquor  that 
few  men  could  tell  from  genuine  cognac,  and  all  for 
about  fifteen  dollars." 

"  I  see,  I  see !"  returned  Lloyd,  a  pleased  interest 
in  his  face.  "And  now  can  you  tell  how  many 
drinks  there  are  in  a  gallon  ?" 

"  Somewhere  from  sixty  to  seventy.  We  always 
called  it  sixty,  so  as  to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

I  took  out  an  old  stump  of  a  pencil  that  happened 
to  be  in  my  pocket  and  began  figuring  on  the  mar 
gin  of  a  newspaper  which  lay  on  the  table,  talking 
aloud  as  I  did  so : 

"  Five  times  sixty  are  three  hundred.  Three 
hundred  drinks  at  fifteen  cents.  Three  times  five 
are  fifteen ;  three  times  one  are  three,  and  one  makes 
four.  Forty-five  dollars  for  fifteen.  That's  how 
much  on  each  glass  ?  Three  into  fifteen  goes  five 
times.  Just  five  cents  a  glass,  which  gives  ten  cents 
profit." 

"  Splendid !"  ejaculated  Lloyd.  "  No  wonder  they 
pile  up  money." 

"  Most  of  the  taverns  charge  twenty-five  cents  a 
glass  for  brandy,  and  at  some  of  the  tip-top  places 
they  charge  fifty  cents  for  liquor  just  like  ours.  We 
hadn't  a  great  run  of  brandy  customers  at  the  Eagle, 
and  so  only  charged  fifteen,  to  draw  'em  on.  We 

5  D 


50  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

.  got  the  same  for  all  other  spirits,  and  none  of  them 
cost  us  any  more  than  the  brandy.  According  to 
your  figures,  we  made  ten  cents  a  glass  on  the  brandy, 
but  it  was  nearer  eleven  or  twelve,  I  guess.  There 
was  always  some  doctoring  done  that  I  didn't  see, 
and,  whatever  it  was,  you  may  be  sure  it  didn't  add 
anything  to  the  cost." 

As  the  old  man  talked,  his  eyes  growing  brighter 
and  his  manner  more  free,  I  noticed  his  hand  reach 
out  for  the  empty  glass  in  a  mechanical  sort  of  way. 
He  took  it  up,  as  if  not  conscious  of  what  he  was 
doing,  turned  it 'found  and  round  in  both  of  his 
hands,  and  then,  while  still  talking,  raised  it  to  his 
mouth  and  sipped  the  few  drops  that  had  collected 
at  the  bottom.  Seeing  this,  Lloyd  made  a  sign  to 
one  of  the  waiters,  wfrb  took  our  glasses  and  filled 
them  again. 

There  was  no  hesitation  on  the  part  of  Flint 
when  the  second  foaming  glass  of  ale  was  set  before 
him.  He  lifted  it  from  the  table  in  a  pleased  kind 
of  way,  and  holding  it  up,  said,  as  he  examined  it 
with  a  knowing  look, 

"  They've  got  the  knack  of  it,  I  see." 

"The  knack  of  what?"  I  asked. 

"  They  know  how  to  draw  a  glass  of  beer  high  up 
and  low  down,  as  we  used  to  say  at  the  Eagle. 
There's  a  great  deal  in  it.  A  chap  that  understands 
his  business  can  get  ten  or  twenty  glasses  more  out 
of  a  keg  than  a  greenhorn." 

"  Possible  ?" 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  51 

"  Yes,  sir.  You  must  know  how  to  put  a  good 
strong  froth  on  the  top  that  will  last.  Just  like  this." 

He  could  wait  no  longer,  but  raised  the  glass  to 
his  lips,  and  poured  down  most  of  the  contents  before 
removing  it. 

"There  wasn't  much  over  two-thirds  of  solid 
liquor  in  that  glass,"  he  said,  smacking  his  mouth. 
"  All  the  rest  was  froth.  They  know  just  how  to  do 
it  here.  I've  watched  'em  many  a  time.  It's  high 
up  and  low  down,"  lifting  his  glass  and  then  drawing 
it  steadily  down  a  distance  of  several  inches. 

"You  have  the  knack  of  doing  it,  I  suppose?" 
said  Lloyd. 

"  Me  ?  You'd  better  say  so !  I  can  draw  a  glass 
of  beer  just  right,  and  that  is  more  than  ten  in  a 
hundred  can  do — just  right  for  the  profit,  I  mean, 
and  not  too  low  down  to  spoil  your  customers. 
They  won't  stand  too  much  froth,  you  know." 

"  What  will  it  cost  to  fit  up  a  pretty  fair  sort  of  a 
place  ? — not  so  large  as  this — say  half  as  large  ? 
Have  you  any  idea  ?" 

I  put  the  question  to  Flint. 

"  That's  according  to  how  you  do  it,  gentlemen. 
The  nicer  the  better,  you  know.  And  so  this  is 
what  you  are  driving  at?  I  kind  of  guessed  as 
much  ;"  and  his  watery  eyes  twinkled.  "  But  take 
Perry  Flint's  advice,  and  don't  do  it.  Stick  to 
honest  work.  Bookbinding  is  a  great  deal  more 
respectable  than  rumselling,  and  pays  better  in  the 
end." 


52  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"Thank  you  for  your  advice,  daddy,"  replied 
Lloyd,  a  little  impatiently. 

"  No  thanks  required,  sir.  I'm  an  old  man,  and 
have  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  in  my  time,  and 
a  good  many  ups  and  downs  among  all  sorts  of 
people,  and  I  say  to  you  now,  gentlemen,  what  I've 
said  a  hundred  times  before,  and  it's  this :  I  never 
knew  a  man  who  got  better  off  by  selling  liquor — 
better  off  in  the  end,  I  mean.  Somehow,  a  curse 
always  goes  with  it.  I  could  count  you  a  dozen 
names  on  my  fingers  to-night  of  men  who  got  tired 
of  honest  work,  and  went  into  the  liquor  business, 
and  there  is  not  one  of  them  that  has  not  rued  the 
day  he  did  it.  They  all  made  money  for  a  while. 
Some  made  a  good  deal,  and  kept  it.  But,  oh  dear ! 
all  the  money  in  the  world  wouldn't  buy  what  most 
of  them  lost." 

"  There  !  there  !  That  will  do,  my  friend,"  said  I, 
breaking  in  upon  his  untimely  speech.  "  We  don't 
care  about  a  temperance  lecture  to-night." 

Lloyd  rose  to  his  feet  suddenly ;  there  was  a 
heavy  frown  on  his  face. 

"All  right,  gentlemen,  all  right!"  muttered  the 
old  man.  "  I've  said  my  say.  Perry  Flint  hasn't 
lived  sixty-five  years  for  nothing.  Go  ahead !  But 
it  won't  come  out  right.  It  never  does." 

"  Oh,  shut  up !"  exclaimed  Lloyd,  unable  to  re 
strain  himself. 

"  Never  did  that  in  my  life  at  any  man's  word," 
answered  Flint,  growing  angry,  "  and  don't  mean  to 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  53 

do  it  now.  You  tell  me  to  shut  up !"  His  voice  was 
full  of  contempt  for  the  man  he  addressed.  "  And 
who  are  you,  I  wonder  ?" 

The  weak,  almost  tottering,  old  man  drew  him 
self  up  into  a  firm,  dignified  attitude,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  in  scorn  and  rebuke  on  Lloyd. 

"  Come,"  said  the  latter,  addressing  me.  I  went 
out  with  him,  leaving  Flint  in  the  tavern. 

We  walked  nearly  half  a  square  before  either  of 
us  spoke.  Lloyd  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 

"  It's  well  I  got  out  as  quickly  as  I  did,"  he  said, 
speaking  like  one  from  whose  feelings  some  great 
pressure  was  but  half  removed.  "  I  don't  know 
what  devil  got  into  me,  but  it  was  as  much  as  I 
could  do  to  keep  my  hands  off  of  that  cursed  old 
wretch." 

"  Why,  Tom  Lloyd!"  I  exclaimed,  not  concealing 
the  surprise  I  felt.  "  The  poor  old  man  didn't  mean 
any  harm ;  he  wanted  to  do  us  a  service." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  he  did,  and  I  was  a  fool  to  let  it 
anger  me  so.  But  I  couldn't  help  it ;  my  mind  was 
setting  all  one  way,  you  see,  and  when  that  is  the 
case,  anything  like  opposition  ruffles  me." 

We  did  not  return  to  Lloyd's  house,  but  went  into 
another  saloon,  that  we  might  sit  together  and  talk 
further  on  what  was  uppermost  in  both  of  our  minds, 
and  also  to  take  note  of  what  went  on  therein.  We 
had  seen  and  heard  and  thought  enough  on  that  Sun 
day  afternoon  and  evening  to  satisfy  us  that  the  dif 
ference  between  bookbinding  and  liquor-selling  was 

5* 


54  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

the  difference  between  hard  work  and  poor  pay  and 
ease  and  competence. 

During  the  hour  that  we  sat  there  thirty-two 
glasses  of  ale  and  beer  and  sixteen  of  spirits  in  one 
form  or  another  were  drank,  and  we  counted  the 
profit  on  an  hour's  business  at  not  less  than  four 
dollars. 

Before  separating  we  had  agreed,  if  it  were  pos 
sible  to  raise  enough  money  to  furnish  and  stock  a 
small  saloon,  to  open  one  as  near  the  bindery  as  it 
was  possible  to  get,  for  it  was  from  the  bindery  and 
printing-office  that  we  counted  on  getting  the  chief 
part  of  our  custom. 

"  What  will  Mrs.  Lloyd  say  ?"  I  asked  as  we  sat 
together. 

The  question  sent  a  dark  shadow  over  my  com 
panion's  face. 

"There'll  be  trouble,"  he  answered,  fretfully. 
"She'll  set  herself  against  it  like  a  rock." 

"What  will  you  do?" 

"Go  ahead!"  He  shut  his  teeth,  looking  hard 
and  resolute.  "  It  will  be  all  plain  sailing  with  you, 
Hiram,  but  I  shall  have  the  devil  to  pay,"  he  added, 
in  a  troubled  voice.  "  Between  Maggy  and  her 
mother,  I  expect  to  have  a  lively  time.  But  I  shall 
do  it ;  you  may  count  on  that.  It  may  be  uphill 
work  for  a  while,  but  when  the  silk  dresses  and  fine 
ribbons  come,  everything  will  run  as  easy  and 
smooth  as  oil.  Money  works  wonders,  you  know, 
Hiram,  and  we're  going  to  make  money  like  dirt." 


CHAPTER  V. 

ON  the  next  morning,  while  on  my  way  to  the 
bindery — I  was  an  hour  late — I  saw  a  crowd 
around  Bell's  court,,  and  stopped  to  see  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  There's  been  a  murder,"  I  heard  some  one  say. 

"Who  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  know,"  was  replied.  "They  say  a  man 
has  killed  his  wife." 

I  passed  through  the  crowd  that  blocked  up  the 
entrance  to  the  court,  and  threaded  the  narrow  way 
packed  with  people,  until  I  came  in  front  of  one  of 
the  small  houses.  The  crowd  stood  a  little  back 
from  the  half-open  door.  I  felt  a  strange  suspense, 
a  half-defined  terror.  I  knew  that  Flint  lived  in  the 
court,  but  having  been  there  only  once,  I  could  not 
recognize  his  house. 

In  a  blind,  desperate  sort  of  way  I  pushed  open  the 
door  and  went  in,  closing  it  behind  me.  There  were, 
maybe,  a  dozen  persons  in  the  room,  two  of  them 
police  officers.  But  I  saw  them  only  obscurely. 
One  object  instantly  fixed  my  gaze.  It  was  the 
white  face  of  Mrs.  Flint.  She  was  lying  on  a  settee 
that  stood  opposite  the  door.  There  was  no  mistak 
ing  what  was  written  on  that  finely-cut,  peaceful, 

55 


56  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

sweet  old  face.  It  was  death !  Lying  on  the  floor, 
just  in  front  of  the  settee,  face  down,  was  Flint,  mo 
tionless  as  the  dead  form  above  him,  his  white,  abun 
dant  hair  shining  like  silver  in  the  few  rays  of  sun 
shine  that  came  in  through  a  corner  of  the  window 
where  the  shade  was  broken,  and  fell  just  where  his 
head  was  resting. 

I  lost  my  breath  for  several  moments,  my  head 
swam,  I  felt  as  if  about  to  fall  from  some  great 
height.  As  I  stood  thus  spellbound  I  saw  the 
still  form  on  the  floor  stir.  Then  a  strong  shiver 
ran  through  it,  and  then  slowly  and  heavily  the 
prostrate  old  man  rose  upon  one  elbow  and  looked 
at  the  face  of  his  dead  wife. 

"  God  help  me !"  he  groaned,  falling  back  upon 
the  floor  with  a  heavy  thud.  The  sorrow  and  de 
spair  in  his  voice  were  terrible. 

One  of  the  policemen  now  bent  over  him,  and 
grasping  his  arm,  said,  not  roughly,  but  almost 
tenderly, 

"  Come."     He  did  not  move. 

"  Come  !"  The  policeman  repeated  his  command, 
pulling  on  his  arm  as  he  did  so,  and  raising  him 
partly  up  by  main  force.  At  this,  Flint  seemed  to 
comprehend  what  was  meant,  and  yielded  passively 
when  another  of  the  policemen  took  hold  of  him. 
As  he  stood  erect  I  saw  his  face  for  the  first  time. 
It  was  so  haggard  and  pinched  and  awfully  wretched 
that  I  scarcely  knew  it. 

The  policeman  drew  the  miserable  old  man  toward 


"Slowly  and  heavilj7,  the  prostrate  old  man  rose  and  looked  at  the  fact 
of  his  dead  wife."  Page  57. 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  57 

the  door.  He  held  back,  turning  his  head  all  the 
while  and  looking  at  the  form  of  his  dead  wife.  At 
the  door  he  stood  still  in  partial  resistance. 

"  Come  on,  sir !"  cried  one  of  the  men,  with  some 
impatience. 

"Let  me  go  back  just  for  a  minute,"  pleaded 
Flint,  with  a  tone  and  manner  that  were  irresistible. 

The  policeman  released  him.  He  returned  slowly 
to  the  settee,  and  sunk  forward  on  his  knees  and 
bent  down  over  the  quiet,  dead  face,  looking  at  it, 
oh  so  lovingly  and  so  sorrowfully.  Then  he  laid 
his  lips  softly  on  the  white  forehead,  and  then  his 
old  heart  broke.  Such  a  wail  of  agony  as  rung  out 
from  his  lips  I  hope  never  to  hear  again.  He  fell 
forward,  then  slipped  heavily  to  the  floor.  When 
we  lifted  him,  he  was  dead. 

I  went  to  my  work  in  the  bindery  like  one  in  a 
dream.  I  spoke  to  no  person  of  the  dreadful  tragedy 
I  had  witnessed,  not  even  to  Lloyd.  How  could  I, 
with  the  stain  of  murder  on  my  own  garments  ?  I 
say  here  squarely  what  I  felt,  but  would  not  acknow 
ledge  then.  Yes,  the  conviction  that  at  my  door 
and  Lloyd's  was  the  guilt  of  this  fearful  work 
haunted  me  like  a  ghost.  But  I  kept  it  all  in  my 
own  heart. 

"What's  come  over  you,  man?"  asked  Lloyd, 
who  worked  beside  me.  He  had  tried  in  vain  to 
get  me  to  talk,  but  could  only  draw  "  Yes "  and 
"  No  "  out  of  me. 

"  Nothing,"  I  replied,  evasively. 


58  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  You  needn't  say  that.     What's  gone  wrong  ?" 

"Nothing;"  and  that  was  all  he  could  get  from 
me.  So  we  worked  on  in  silence  for  most  of  the 
day,  standing  side  by  side. 

I  was  anxious  to  see  an  afternoon  paper,  and  got 
one  as  soon  as  issued.  It  contained  an  account  of 
the  scene  I  had  witnessed  in  the  morning,  under 
the  head  of  "A  DOUBLE  TRAGEDY— MORE 
OF  RUM'S  DOINGS,"  and  ran  thus  : 

"A  fearful  tragedy  took  place  at  No.  6  Bell's 
court  some  time  early  this  morning.  An  old  man 
named  Perry  Flint  killed  his  wife  in  a  drunken  fit, 
and  then,  in  horror  at  the  deed,  fell  dead  as  the  po 
liceman  laid  hands  on  him.  Many  of  our  citizens 
remember  Flint  very  well.  His  .father  was  Aubrey 
Flint,  a  highly-respected  merchant  in  this  city,  who 
accumulated  considerable  property,  all  of  which 
was  left  to  Perry,  who  was  his  only  child.  The  son 
carried  on  the  business  for  several  years,  but  fell  into 
habits  of  dissipation,  and  at  last  became  bankrupt. 
His  wife  was  widely  known  in  her  younger  days  as 
a  woman  of  rare  culture. 

"  After  Flint's  failure  in  business  he  became  very 
poor,  and  his  accomplished  wife  was  no  longer  seen 
in  fashionable  circles.  They  had  two  or  three  chil 
dren,  but  all  died  when  they  were  young.  In  his 
poverty  and  degradation  Flint's  wife,  it  is  said, 
steadily  clung  to  him,  doing  all  in  her  power  to  hold 
him  back  from  dissipation,  and  to  make  his  hard,  self- 
imposed  lot  as  comfortable  as  possible.  Flint,  like 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  59 

most  drunkards,  often  tried  to  reform,  and  some 
times  kept  away  from  drink  for  weeks  at  a  time. 
But  there  is  little  or  no  hope  for  poor  wretches  like 
him  when  every  block  has  its  one  or  a  dozen  taverns. 

"  For  a  longer  period  than  usual  Flint  had  been 
abstaining  from  drink,  and  things  were  beginning  to 
look  more  comfortable  in  his  poor  little  home,  and 
the  pale,  thin  face  of  his  patient,  long-suffering  wife 
to  wear  a  more  hopeful  aspect,  when,  it  is  said,  two 
men  called  to  see  him  on  Sunday  evening  and 
tempted  him  away  to  a  tavern.  Some  of  the  neigh 
bors  heard  him  coming  home  about  midnight.  He 
was  noisy,  as  was  apt  to  be  the  case  when  he  had 
been  drinking. 

"About  seven  o'clock  this  morning  the  people 
living  up  stairs  heard  voices  in  the  'old  couple's' 
room.  Flint  cried  out  angrily  several  times,  and 
they  could  hear  his  wife  trying  to  coax  him,  as  they 
thought,  not  to  go  out.  But  he  did  go,  staying 
away  perhaps  half  an  hour.  '  Oh,  Perry,  Perry !'  his 
poor  wife  was  heard  to  exclaim  as  he  came  in  at  the 
end  of  that  time.  Then  he  cursed  her,  using  fearful 
oaths.  There  was  silence  for  a  little  while.  His 
wife's  voice  was  again  heard.  In  a  moment  after,  a 
savage  imprecation  broke  from  his  lips,  and  then  a 
heavy  fall  was  heard.  A  death-like  silence  followed, 
broken  in  a  few  moments  by  a  cry  of  terror  from 
the  old  man.  He  had  struck  his  wife  in  his  blind 
fury,  and  had  killed  her. 

"  He  was  found  lying  on  the  floor  beside  her  as 


60  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

she  had  fallen.  The  blow  had  been  given  by  his 
clenched  fist  just  under  the  right  ear,  and  death  had 
been  instant.  There  was  no  wound,  but  a  dark  and 
wide  discoloration. 

"  The  deadly  effect  of  the  fearful  blow  dealt  in  his 
drunken  frenzy  sobered  the  unhappy  man.  The 
scene  that  followed  was  touching  in  the  extreme. 
When  they  lifted  the  dead  woman  from  the  floor 
and  turned  her  face  upward,  no  eye  could  look  upon 
it  without  tears.  It  is  long  since  we  have  seen  a 
face  in  death  so  calm  and  soft  and  beautiful,  thin  and 
white  and  marked  by  the  death-angel  as  it  was. 
All  the  fear  and  pain,  if  they  had  marred  it  when 
the  mad  blow  was  given,  had  faded  out,  leaving 
only  the  signs  of  a  spiritual  beauty  which  a  long- 
tried,  patient  and  religious  soul  had  cut  thereon. 

"  But  the  tragedy  was  not  over.  That  blow  had 
a  fatal  rebound,  killing  twice." 

I  folded  the  paper  quietly,  slipped  it  into  my 
pocket  and  went  on  with  my  work. 

"Heaven  and  earth!"  exclaimed  a  journeyman 
near  me,  in  a  startled  voice.  "  More  doings  of  the 
rum  fiend.  Old  Perry  Flint  has  killed  his  wife." 

"What?"  eagerly  inquired  many  voices,  and  a 
little  group  came  round  the  journeyman,  who  read 
aloud  the  account  I  have  just  given. 

I  watched  Lloyd  stealthily.  He  did  not  once  raise 
his  eyes  from  the  .floor,  nor,  when  the  reading  was 
over,  make  any  comment.  As  for  myself,  I  had  no 
heart  to  say  a  word. 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  6 1 

"  You  are  not  one  of  the  men  who  called  for  old 
Perry  yesterday  ?"  said  a  journeyman  near  me,  speak 
ing  in  banter  to  another. 

"  No,  thank  God !"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  I'd 
about  as  soon  be  in  the  hangman's  shoes." 

"  You'd  deserve  to  be  in  the  other  man's  shoes." 

"  What  other  man  ?  Oh,  the  one  to  be  hung,  you 
mean  ?" 

"  Exactly." 

"Just  my  sentiments.  No  punishment  is  too 
severe  for  a  man  who  would  draw  a  poor  old 
wretch,  making  a  feeble  effort  to  save  himself,  back 
into  the  horrible  pit  of  drunkenness  from  which  he 
had  escaped.  It's  a  pity  the  names  of  the  two  men 
had  not  been  given." 

"  A  great  pity.  Maybe  the  inquest  has  or  will 
put  the  public  in  possession  of  their  names." 

I  felt  a  shiver  of  alarm  pass  through  me.  Various 
comments  were  made  by  the  men,  none  of  which 
were  very  pleasant  to  hear.  Several  times  I  was  on 
the  eve  of  joining  in,  lest  my  steady  silence  should 
attract  attention,  but  I  was  afraid  to  trust  my  voice. 
It  might  betray  the  uneasiness  I  felt. 

"  Bad  business,  that,"  said  I  to  Lloyd  as  we  came 
out  of  the  bindery  together  that  evening. 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  done  and  can't  be  helped,"  he  re 
plied,  with  more  indifference  of  manner  than  I  had 
expected.  "  I'm  sorry  we  had  any  hand  in  it,  but 
how  did  we  know  the  old  sot  was  going  to  make  a 
beast  of  himself  and  kill  his  wife  ?  When  a  man  gets 
6 


62  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

so  far  gone  that  he  can't  take  a  glass  of  beer  without 
getting  drunk,  it's  time  he  was  dead." 

I  did  not  feel  so  very  greatly  shocked  at  this.  In 
deed,  Lloyd's  view  of  the  case  acted  as  a  kind  of 
relief  to  my  feelings,  and  my  spirits  began  to  return. 

Harvey  street,  in  which  our  bindery  and  printing- 
office  were,  was  a  narrow  street  running  between  two 
of  the  larger  ones  in  our  city.  Another  narrow 
street  crossed  it  at  the  distance  of  only  two  or  three 
houses  from  our  establishment.  In  these  streets 
were  a  great  many  small  houses  occupied  by  poor 
families.  There  were,  as  is  always  the  case  in  such 
localities,  a  number  of  drinking-shops,  but  none  at 
all  respectable  or  attractive  in  appearance. 

As  Lloyd  and  I  walked  away  from  the  bindery 
that  evening  we  noticed  a  bill  on  one  of  the  houses 
only  a  little  way  off.  It  stood  three  or  four  doors 
from  the  corner  of  the  two  narrow  streets,  and  en 
tirely  out  of  sight  of  the  main  entrance  to  our  estab 
lishment,  but  close  to  one  of  the  rear  entrances.  It 
was  an  old  two-story  house,  with  garrets  and  dor 
mer  windows,  and  had  been  used  as  a  shop  of  some 
kind.  There  were  two  entrances,  one  into  the  shop 
and  one  into  a  narrow  hall  leading  to  the  dwelling 
part  of  the  house. 

"  That's  the  very  place,"  exclaimed  Lloyd  as  his 
eyes  rested  on  the  bill  bearing  the  words  "  To  Let." 
We  crossed  over  and  read  on  the  bill,  "  Key  next 
door." 

"  What  is  the  rent  ?"  we  asked  on  getting  the  key. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  63 

"  Five  hundred  dollars." 

Five  hundred  dollars  !  It  seemed  to  me  a  fright 
fully  large  sum. 

"  We  can  never  stand  that/'  I  said  as  we  returned 
to  the  street. 

"  It  won't  be  anything  at  all,"  answered  my  com 
panion,  "  after  we  get  once  started — only  ten  dol 
lars  a  week,  and  we  can  make  more  than  double  that 
every  day." 

"  Just  the  thing,"  said  Lloyd,  after  we  had  gone 
over  the  house.  "  It  will  just  suit  my  family.  We 
pay  two  hundred  and  forty  now,  and  by  moving  in 
here  that  much  will  be  saved." 

"  But  what  is  your  wife  going  to  say  about  it  ?"  I 
asked. 

A  shadow  dropped  over  his  face,  his  brow  fell, 
his  mouth  grew  hard  and  resolute. 

"There'll  be  trouble,  I  suppose,"  he  replied. 
"  There  always  is  when  women  are  concerned.  But 
it  won't  last  long.  I've  been  master  in  my  own  house 
so  far,  and  intend  continuing  so  for  a  while  yet.  So, 
you  see,  it  will  be  what  I  siy  about  it." 

"  It  is  not  a  very  nice  place  to  bring  your  chil 
dren,"  I  remarked. 

"  Necessity  knows  no  law.  If  I  was  able  to  pay 
two  rents  they  might  stay  wliere  they  are,  but  as  I 
am  not,  they  will  have  to  come  here — that  is,  if  we 
conclude  to  take  the  house.  But  we  won't  talk  of 
outside  matters  now.  The  thing  to  decide  is,,  Can 
we  rais^  the  -wherewithal  to  fit  up  a  decent  saloon  ? 


64  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

This  is  the  place ;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that.  We 
can  get  enough  out  of  the  bindery  and  printing- 
office  to  live  like  nabobs.  I've  figured  it  over  half  a 
dozen  times." 

"The  men  don't  all  drink,"  I  said.  "We  can 
only  count  on  a  certain  number." 

"There's  a  way  to  bring  most  of  them  along," 
answered  Lloyd,  in  a  satisfied  tone.  "  We've  got  to 
make  things  attractive.  We'll  have  free  lunches  and 
music,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  You  see,  I'm  not 
going  in  after  any  dull,  sleepy  fashion.  We  must  be 
wide  awake.  There  are  plenty  of  fish  in  the  water, 
but  they  will  stay  there  if  you  don't  drop  a  hook  or 
draw  a  net." 

We  met  again  that  evening  in  one  of  the  many 
taverns  to  be  found  in  the  neighborhood  where  we 
lived,  and  spent  a  couple  of  hours  in  talking  over 
the  question  of  ways  and  means.  We  had  seen  the 
owner  of  the  vacant  house,  who  was  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise  at  the  prospect  of  having  it  nicely 
fitted  up  as  a  saloon.  He  knew  very  well  that  after 
a  good  run  of  custom  was  obtained  he  could  add 
from  one  to  three  hundred  dollars  to  the  rent.  As  a 
dwelling  or  small  shop  for  retailing  provisions  and 
groceries  a  permanent  tenant  could  not  be  found  at 
the  rent  he  asked,  but  as  a  first-class  drinking-house 
the  rent  would  be  sure,  and  might  be  increased.  So 
he  entertained  our  proposal  favorably. 

But  how  were  we  to  get  the  money  necessary  to 
fit  the  place  up  ?  It  would  take  from  six  to  eight 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  6$ 

hundred  dollars,  for  the  whole  of  the  first  story  front 
would  have  to  be  changed.  There  must  be  a  new 
door  of  some  handsome  pattern,  ingrained  wood, 
signs  and  a  fancy  gas-lamp.  Inside,  there  must  be 
counters  and  shelves  and  showy  furniture,  and  last, 
but  not  least,  a  good  stock  of  liquors.  We  must 
have  not  less  than  a  thousand  dollars.  As  I  looked 
the  matter  squarely  in  the  face  I  could  not  help 
saying, 

"  It's  all  folly,  Lloyd ;  we  can't  do  it." 

"  We  can  do  it  if  we  will,"  he  replied,  resolutely. 
"  Now,  it's  my  belief  that  if  we  offer  the  landlord  six 
hundred  for  the  first  year  and  seven  hundred  for  the 
second,  he'll  fit  the  place  up  for  us." 

I  shook  my  head  doubtfully. 

"  I  mean  to  try  him,  anyhow,"  my  companion 
said.  "If  he  is  satisfied  that  we  are  all  right — and  I 
reckon  we  can  get  as  good  characters  as  the  next 
man — I  believe  he  will  do  it.  I  saw  that  he  was 
mighty  well  pleased  when  he  talked  of  the  handsome 
manner  in  which  we  meant  to  do  the  thing,  and  the 
way  in  which  we  expected  to  draw  customers.  He 
sees  as  well  as  we  do  that  the  stand  is  a  splendid 
one,  and  that  as  we  are  journeymen  in  the  bindery 
and  know  all  the  men,  we  can  control  the  custom 
better  than  any  one  else.  It's  a  splendid  chance  for 
him,  and  he  knows  it.  Once  get  a  good  house 
started  here,  and  his  property  will  pay  him  forty  per 
cent,  more  than  he  has  ever  received  from  it.  All 
right,  Hiram.  The  thing's  done." 

6*  E 


66  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

And  he  slapped  my  shoulder  in  a  sudden  rise  of 
spirits. 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  it,"  was  my  doubtful  response. 

"  You  will  see  it  before  a  month  goes  over  your 
head,  or  my  name  isn't  Tom  Lloyd.  I  read  that  old 
chap  like  a  book.  I  saw  the  pleased,  eager  light  in 
his  half-shut  eyes.  He  knows  where  dollars  are,  and 
how  to  get  them.  Let  me  alone  for  managing  him." 

"  And  you  really  think  he  will  do  the  fitting  up  ?" 
I  said. 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  if  we  cut  our  cards  right.  Nothing 
will  pay  him  so  well  as  a  good  tavern,  and  all  he 
cares  for  is  the  money  his  house  will  bring.  We 
can't  get  a  thousand  dollars  to  spend  on  the  house, 
nor  five  hundred  either,  as  to  that  matter.  But  we 
can  make  the  thing  a  grand  success  if  once  started. 
Our  advantage  over  outsiders  will  lie  in  the  fact  that 
we  can  control  a  large  custom.  I  shall  put  this  to 
him  squarely.  Then,  after  I  get  him  warmed  up,  I 
shall  quite,  coolly  say,  '  But  there  is  one  thing  you 
will  have  to  do,  if  we  take  your  house.'  I  think  I 
see  his  dull  gray  eyes  coming  wide  open;"  and 
Lloyd  laughed  to  himself.  "'What  is  that?'  he 
asks.  'We  are  only  two  journeymen  bookbinders, 
with  nothing  ahead,'  I  reply,  '  and  cannot  stand  the 
expense  of  fitting  up  a  saloon.  Now,  if  you  will 
put  this  improvement  on  your  house,  we  will  give 
you  six  hundred  a  year  instead  of  five.' " 

"  And  he'll  say,  '  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind/  "  I 
responded. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  67 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  said  Lloyd. 

"  Well  ?     What  then  ?" 

"  '  All  right/  I  shall  say.  '  That  ends  it,  as  far  as 
your  house  is  concerned.  We  like  its  location  best 
of  any  in  the  neighborhood,  but  shall  have  to  take 
the  next  best.  We  already  hold  the  refusal  of  two 
places  in  the  square,  and  the  landlords  are  anxious  to 
fit  them  up  nicely  for  us.  They  see  that  it  will  be 
the  making  of  their  property.  Your  house  is  just  in 
the  right  spot,  and  we  would  rather  have  it.  But 
that  will  be  as  you  say.  We  were  about  closing  for 
one  of  the  others  when  we  saw  the  bill  on  yours.' " 

"  You'll  do,  old  chap,"  was  my  laughing  reply. 
"  Didn't  know  before  that  you  had  such  a  gift  for 
lying." 

"Lying?  Psha!  It's  management.  Well,  that 
will  bring  him,  you  may  bet." 

And  that  or  something  else  did  bring  him,  for  in 
less  than  a  week  carpenters  and  bricklayers  were  at 
work  on  the  old  house,  and  we  were  in  possession 
of  a  lease  for  two  years  at  seven  hundred  dollars  a 
year. 

We  found  no  difficulty  in  arranging  for  a  stock  of 
liquors.  Brewers  and  wholesale  dealers  in  spirits 
were  ready  to  give  us  a  start.  The  more  retail  shops, 
the  better  for  them,  and  so  they  made  it  very  easy 
for  us. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AMID  all  our  plannings  and  preparations  for  the 
new  business  in  which  we  were  to  make  money 
"  hand  over  fist " — my  companion's  favorite  expres 
sion — I  could  never  think  of  Lloyd's  family  without 
an  uncomfortable  feeling.  In  a  mild  way  I  had  made 
objections  several  times  to  the  plan  of  moving  them 
over  our  saloon,  but  Lloyd  always  said  positively 
that  he  couldn't  and  wouldn't  pay  two  rents — that 
what  was  good  enough  for  him  was  good  enough 
for  them.  His  feeling  toward  his  wife  and  children 
was  growing  strangely  cold  and  hard,  and  every  time 
I  referred  to  them  he  showed  more  or  less  irritation 
and  annoyance. 

Trouble  was  brewing — I  felt  sure  of  that.  I  had 
ceased  to  call  on  Sunday  afternoons,  preferring  to 
meet  Lloyd  at  some  tavern  where  we  could  talk 
over  our  plans  freely ;  besides,  I  had  a  sort  of  guilty 
feeling  when  I  looked  Mrs.  Lloyd  and  Maggy  in  the 
face.  I  saw  that  their  suspicions  were  awake,  and 
that  my  intimacy  with  the  husband  and  father  was  a 
source  of  uneasiness  to  them. 

Soon  after  the  carpenters  got  to  work  we  let  it  be 
known  in  the  bindery  that  we  were  going  into  a  new 
enterprise.  It  created  considerable  stir  among  the 

68 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  69 

men.  Some  approved  and  some  condemned.  One 
young  man  named  Hargrave  indulged  in  some 
strong  language,  and  there  had  like  to  have  been 
trouble  between  him  and  Lloyd. 

"  Better  turn  pirate  or  highwayman  at  once,"  he 
said,  a  stinging  contempt  in  his  voice  that  was  irri 
tating  beyond  measure. 

I  saw  an  instant  pallor  in  Lloyd's  face  and  a  fiery 
devil  in  his  eye.  Putting  my  hand  on  him,  I  spoke 
in  a  low  voice,  and  for  his  ear  alone : 

"  Don't  mind  him,  Tom ;  he's  one  of  your  pious 
chaps." 

Lloyd  curbed  his  passion.  He  saw,  as  I  did,  that 
just  the  worst  thing  we  could  do  would  be  to  get  up 
a  quarrel. 

Hargrave  said  no  more,  but  his  remark  turned 
the  tide  against  us  in  a  good  many  minds,  and 
threw  a  blur  on  the  respectability  of  our  new  en 
terprise. 

"  Too  many  grog-shops  now,"  remarked  anothei 
of  the  journeymen.  "  If  I  had  my  way,  I'd  suppress 
the  whole  of  them." 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  stop  drinking  ?"  asked 
a  man  at  work  near  him.  His  name  was  Wilson. 

"  No,  not  while  the  present  army  of  poor  tipplers 
are  alive,"  was  answered.  "  But  a  few  years  would 
finish  them  up.  In  the  mean  time  the  business  of 
drunkard-making  as  a  profession  would  stop,  and 
the  trade,  being  confined  to  lady-and-gentleman 
amateurs  in  their  homes,  would  languish,  and  year 


70  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

by  year  the  product  would  be  less.  If  no  other 
good  came  of  it,  your  son  and  mine  would  not  be 
tempted  at  every  corner." 

I  saw  a  pained  look  in  Wilson's  face,  and  knew 
what  it  meant.  He  had  a  son  in  the  printing-office 
down  stairs  who  was  not  over  twenty  years  of  age, 
but  who  had  already  fallen  into  intemperate  habits. 
The  argument  went  home,  and  Wilson  leaned  over 
his  work  and  said  no  more. 

Running  remarks  were  kept  up  by  the  men  for 
some  time,  and  both  Lloyd  and  myself  were  not  a 
little  chagrined  and  disappointed  at  what  we  heard. 
We  had,  besides,  to  stand  a  good  deal  of  rough 
banter  that  chafed  more  than  skin  deep. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  a  word  with  you,  Mr.  Jones," 
said  the  foreman  of  our  bindery  as  I  was  going  away 
that  evening.  His  name  was  Ashley.  Some  of  us 
did  not  like  him  very  much,  but  I  will  say  this  of 
him:  he  was  never  unjust  or  arbitrary,  though  strict 
in  his  requirements  with  every  one.  If  a  man 
shirked  his  work  or  was  off  duty,  there  was  no  es 
cape  when  pay-day  came.  He  had  to  stand  in  his 
own  shoes,  and  I  guess  that  was  all  right.  Well,  I 
felt  rather  uncomfortable  when  he  said,  "  I'd  like  to 
have  a  word  with  you,  Mr.  Jones." 

I  dropped  behind,  and  Mr.  Ashley  drew  me  into 
his  little  office  in  a  corner  of  the  building. 

"  Jones,"  said  he,  when  we  were  by  ourselves — and 
he  spoke  in  a  kind  but  serious  way  and  with  a  doubt 
in  his  voice — "it  can't  be  true  what  I  hear?" 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  71 

"That  will  depend  on  what  it  is,"  I  returned, 
dropping  my  gaze  from  his  steady  eyes. 

"  It  is  said  that  you  and  Thomas  Lloyd  are  going 
to  open  a  drinking-saloon  in  the  house  now  being 
fitted  up  round  the  corner." 

"  We  are,"  I  replied  as  firmly  as  I  could  speak. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "It's 
all  wrong,  and  will  lead  to  no  good." 

"  I  can't  see  where  the  wrong  is,  Mr.  Ashley/'  I 
replied.  "  It's  as  fair  and  honest  a  business  as  any 
other,  and  sanctioned  by  law." 

He  shook  his  head  in  a  half-sorrowful  way,  say 
ing, 

"  It's  a  business  that  hurts  all  who  touch  it. 
Crime,  beggary,  vice,  idleness,  sorrow,  disease  and 
suffering  are  its  only  fruits.  Neither  you  nor  any 
other  man  can  point  to  a  case  where  it  has  given  to 
society  a  single  benefit." 

I  thought  rapidly,  trying  to  find  the  case,  but 
memory  was  at  fault.  I  was  not  able  to  answer 
him.  He  went  on  : 

"  Are  you,  then,  ready  to  go  over  to  the  side  of 
what  is  evil  ? — to  become  a  hurt  and  a  hindrance  in 
society,  instead  of  a  helper  and  benefactor  ?  As  a 
bookbinder  every  day's  work  is  a  good  service  to 
your  neighbor,  but  as  a  liquor-seller  every  day's 
work  will  be  a  curse.  Think  it  over,  my  friend. 
Look  things  squarely  in  the  face  and  call  them  by 
their  right  names." 

He  was  very  earnest,  but  kind  and  pleading. 


72  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  for  the  interest  you  take,  Mr. 
Ashley,"  I  returned,  trying  to  speak  with  firmness, 
"  but  it's  too  late  to  talk  about  it  now ;  we've  signed 
a  lease  for  the  place,  and  can't  back  down." 

He  looked  baffled  and  distressed,  then  said, 

"  I'm  sorry  you  didn't  go  somewhere  else.  I  have 
trouble  enough  with  too  many  of  our  men  as  it  is. 
With  a  saloon  next  door,  it  will  be  worse  than  ever. 
I  wonder  at  your  doing  this.  Don't  you  know  that 
there  are  more  than  twenty  men  in  the  establishment 
— good  workmen,  and  right  in  all  but  one  thing — 
who  will  fall  over  the  stumbling-block  you  put  in 
their  way  and  go  to  ruin  in  the  end  ?" 

"  If  there  was  no  other  saloon  in  the  neighbor 
hood  or  in  the  city,"  I  replied,  "I  might  feel  the 
force  of  what  you  say,  Mr.  Ashley,  but  as  it  is,  I 
do  not.  Men  who  want  to  drink  will  go  after  it, 
near  or  far.  If  we  are  near  to  any  of  them,  we  will 
stand  the  best  chance  of  getting  their  custom,  that 
is  all." 

"  But  there  are  lads  and  young  men  in  the  estab 
lishment — some  of  them  easily  drawn  aside,  I  fear," 
said  Mr.  Ashley,  the  troubled  look  still  in  his  face. 
"  You  will  put  temptation  in  their  way,  and  some  of 
them  will  fall.  It  will  be  a  terrible  thing,  sir,  to 
have  the  guilt  of  ruined  human  souls  and  the  curse 
of  broken-hearted  wives  and  mothers  on  your  con 
science.  I  speak  plainly  because  I  feel  strongly, 
and  because  I  see  that  what  I  deprecate  will  surely 
come." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  73 

As  further  talk  was  useless,  I  went  away,  expect 
ing  to  find  Lloyd  in  the  street  waiting  for  me,  but 
was  disappointed.  He  had  gone  home.  So  after 
tea  I  called  at  his  house,  but  rather  unwillingly,  for 
I  did  not  care  to  meet  his  wife  and  Maggy.  If  they 
had  not  known  of  our  plans  before,  Thomas,  who 
worked  at  the  bindery,  had  of  course  brought  home 
the  unwelcome  news. 

I  rang  the  bell,  hoping  that  Lloyd  would  come  to 
the  door.  Instead,  Maggy  opened  it.  I  did  not 
know  her  at  first,  though  she  stood  in  the  strong 
light  of  a  street-lamp,  her  face  was  so  changed.  It 
was  pale  and  suffering,  and  her  eyes  were  red  and 
full  of  tears. 

"  Is  your  father  at  home  ?"  I  asked. 

"No;  he  has  gone  out,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  so 
low  and  choked  that  I  scarcely  caught  the  words. 

I  was  turning  away,  when  she  put  out  her  hand 
and  grasped  my  arm,  saying,  in  a  wild,  tremulous 
manner, 

"  It  isn't  true,  Mr.  Jones  !     It  can't  be  true  !" 

"  What  ?"  I  asked. 

"  That  you  and  father  are  going  to — to — " 

"  Pshaw,  child !"  I  answered,  as  lightly  as  I  could 
speak;  "what's  the  use  of  worrying  yourself  for 
nothing?  You'll  have  silks  and  satins  and  a  car 
riage  to  ride  in  before  a  year  goes  over  your  head." 

"  I'd  rather  live  in  a  garret  than  have  him  do  it, 
Mr.  Jones,"  she  said,  wringing  her  hands  and  crying. 

Qh,  it's  something  awful !" 

7 


74  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  What  a  weak  little  fool  you  are,  Maggy  !"  I  re 
plied,  feeling  half  angry  with  the  girl.  "  It's  just  as 
good  and  respectable  a  business  as  any  other  There 
are  thousands  of  better  people  than  we  are  in  it." 

"  It's  wicked  and  disgraceful,  Mr.  Jones,"  she  an 
swered,  speaking  in  a  calmer  voice,  "and  I'd  rather 
see  father  dead  than  go  into  it." 

"  Good-evening,"  I  said,  turning  away,  for  I  didn't 
want  to  bandy  words  with  the  girl,  and  besides,  I 
had  a  mean,  guilty  sort  of  feeling  as  I  stood  be 
fore  her. 

"  Oh  dear !"  was  my  exclamation,  speaking  to 
myself,  as  I  walked  from  the  door.  "  It's  first  one 
thing  and  then  another.  What  fools  some  people 
are  ! — always  worrying  themselves  for  nothing.  To 
have  Maggy  set  herself  up  like  this !  But  it's  no 
concern  of  mine.  Tom  Lloyd  must  take  care  of  his 
own  cattle ;"  and  I  tried  to  shake  off  the  weight  this 
short  interview  had  laid  upon  my  feelings. 

I  found  Lloyd  in  one  of  the  taverns  where  we 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting.  He  was  sitting 
at  a  table  with  a  glass  of  beer  before  him,  and  or 
dered  one  for  me  as  I  sat  down  at  the  opposite  side. 
I  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  unusually- disturbed 
and  out  of  humor. 

"  What's  up  now  ?"  I  asked,  looking  at  him  across 
the  table. 

"  Oh,  the  devil  to  pay  at  home,"  he  replied,  an 
grily,  knitting  his  brows  and  setting  his  teeth. 
"  Tom  got  home  before  I  did,  and  blowed  the  whole 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  75 

thing.     Such  a  hornet's  nest  as  I  found !     I'd  half  a 
mind  to  thrash  him." 

"  I  don't  see  that  Tom  is  so  much  to  blame,"  I  re 
turned,  for  I  liked  the  boy.  "  It  had  to  come  out 
sooner  or  later." 

"  Of  course  it  had,  and  I  was  going  to  speak  with 
my  wife  about  it  this  very  evening.  But  Tom's 
report  of  that  rough  talk  in  the  bindery  has  thrown 
all  my  fat  into  the  fire.  If  you  had  seen  the  way 
they  all  came  down  on  me !  A  charge  of  cavalry 
was  nothing  to  it."  He  gave  a  low,  sullen  kind  of 
laugh,  but  there  was  no  touch  of  humor  in  his  eyes 
nor  on  his  lips.  He  was  angry  and  bitter. 

"  If  you'll  take  my  advice,"  I  said,  "  you'll  not 
push  this  matter  too  far." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  mean  that,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I  wouldn't 
put  my  family  over  the  saloon.  It's  pushing  them  a 
little  too  hard,  and  besides,  the  neighborhood  is  not 
the  best  in  the  world  for  children." 

"  And  pay  two  rents  ?  Not  if  Tom  Lloyd  knows 
himself." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Tom,"  I  replied.  "  There  are 
two  sides  to  this  matter.  In  the  first  place,  we  don't 
know  but  what  we  may  want  the  whole  house  our 
selves,  and  in  the  second  place,  if  we  should  not,  it 
will  be  easy  enough  to  get  a  tenant  who  will  not  be 
as  much  in  the  way  as  your  family  might  be." 

"Want  it  ourselves?  What  do  you  mean  by 
that?"  he  asked. 


76  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"Young  men  like  to  have  little  suppers  and 
champagne  parties  now  and  then,  and  we  ought  to 
have  a  room  or  two  to  accommodate  them." 

"  Blamed  if  you  ain't  right  there,  Hiram,"  Lloyd 
answered,  striking  his  hand  on  the  table.  "  Never 
thought  of  that." 

"  Besides,"  I  argued,  "  things  get  loose  sometimes 
in  taverns  when  parties  go  it  a  little  too  strong  and 
raise  a  row." 

"  Fact !"  responded  my  companion,  with  the  man 
ner  of  one  into  whose  head  some  new  idea  was 
coming. 

"  And  the  farther  away  your  wife  and  children  are 
on  such  occasions,  the  better  for  your  comfort  and 
theirs." 

"  Something  in  that  too,  and  I  guess  you're  right 
about  it,"  returned  Lloyd.  "  Anyhow,  we'll  get  in 
first,  and  see  how  the  cat  jumps." 

I  felt  relieved  at  this  ready  acquiescence.  My 
notion  of  keeping  the  rooms  up  stairs  for  suppers 
and  drinking-parties  was  a  new  thought,  coming  at 
the  moment,  and  the  more  I  considered  it,  the  more 
sure  I  was  that  in  this  way  we  could  turn  them  to 
best  account. 

"Then,"  I  said  as  I  talked  it  over  with  Lloyd, 
"  we  shall  have  no  women  about  to  trouble  us — no 
body  spying  around.  We  shall  be  a  great  deal  more 
independent.  If  I  was  in  your  place,  I'd  rather  have 
my  wife  and  children  a  mile  away  than  under  my 
nose." 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  77 

"  Guess  you're  right  about  it,  Hiram ;"  and  my 
friend  took  a  deep  breath  like  one  who  felt  relieved. 

"  It  will  make  it  a  great  deal  easier  for  you,"  I  re 
marked.  "  You  will  have  a  hard  row  to  hoe,  as  it  is, 
or  I'm  mistaken.  I  saw  Maggy  a  little  while  ago." 

"  You  did  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  called  round  at  your  house  before  I  came 
here,  and  Maggy  opened  the  door  for  me.  She 
looked  dreadfully.  I  hardly  knew  her  at  first." 

Lloyd  made  no  reply. 

"  Ashley  pitched  into  me  as  I  was  coming  out  this 
evening,"  I  then  remarked. 

"  He  did  ?     What  about  ?" 

"  He  wanted  to  know  if  it  was  true  that  you  and  I 
were  going  to  set  up  a  tavern  close  by  the  bindery." 

"  I  wonder  what  business  that  is  of  Ashley's  ?" 
said  Lloyd,  with  quick  irritation. 

"  I  wanted  to  say  as  much,  but  then,  you  see,  it 
isn't  our  game  to  quarrel  with  anybody  in  the  place." 

"  No,  of  course  not,  if  we  can  help  it.  But  human 
nature  can't  stand  everything.  What  had  he  to 
say  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  gassed  a  spell  over  the  harm  we  might  do 
among  the  men." 

"  Harm  !"  Lloyd  chuckled.  "  He  thinks  we're  in 
the  right  place  to  catch  them." 

Catch  them !  Yes,  that  was  it.  He  had  never 
said  it  out  before,  and  I  had  never  thought  it. 

When  a  boy,  living  in  the  country,  I  had  often 
seen  little  conical-shaped  holes  in  the  ground,  with 

7* 


78  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

smooth  sides  formed  of  light  sand.  At  the  bottom 
of  each  of  these  holes,  covered  up  from  view,  lay  an 
ugly  creature  that  we  called  an  ant-bear.  Often  and 
often  have  I  watched  by  these  holes  to  see  the  ants 
fall  in.  The  moment  they  passed  over  the  sides  the 
light  sand  would  begin  to  give  way  under  their  feet, 
and  they  would  commence  falling  to  the  bottom. 
Then  up  would  poke  the  ugly  head  of  the  ant-bear, 
and  his  cruel  claws  would  seize  and  drag  the  little 
creature  out  of  sight  into  his  murderous  den  below. 
I  never  saw  one  poor  ant  escape. 

Strangely  enough,  when  Lloyd  spoke  of  our 
catching  the  men,  my  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
little  round  holes  in  the  woods,  and  an  ant-bear 
lying  in  wait  for  prey  at  the  bottom  of  each  of  them. 
It  made  me  feel  uncomfortable,  to  say  the  least.  . 

The  next  thing  to  be  done  was  to  give  our  place 
a  name.  While  discussing  this  matter,  considering 
and  rejecting  first  one  name  and  then  another,  I  said 
in  half  banter  and  half  bitterness — for  since  I  had 
come  to  look  this  thing  of  keeping  a  drinking-house 
more  closely  in  the  face,  and  to  consider  all  that  it 
involved,  I  had  begun  to  have  sundry  misgivings, 
and  to  wish  I  had  never  consented  to  go  into  the 
business — "  Let  us  call  it  '  The  Trap.'  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Lloyd,  firing  up 
and  looking  at  me  angrily. 

"  Pshaw !  you're  getting  to  be  a  perfect  tinder- 
box,"  I  replied,  laughing.  "Every  spark  sets  you  on 
fire.  Can't  a  man  have  his  joke  ?" 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  79 

He  growled  a  little  about  not  being  in  a  humor 
for  joking.  "Business  was  his  word." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  let's  call  it  '  The  Retreat.'  One 
name  is  about  as  good  as  another,  after  it  gets  to  be 
known." 

He  shook  his  head.  "The  Retreat"  was  too 
common  and  too  tame. 

"  We  want  something  new  and  striking." 

"Better  have  something  that  suggests  rest  and 
comfort  for  tired  men — that  will  make  them  think  of 
pleasant  evenings,"  I  replied. 

"  How  would  '  The  Rest '  do  ?"  asked  Lloyd,  fall 
ing  in  with  my  notion. 

"  Very  well,  besides  being  novel.  Still, '  RETREAT  ' 
has  in  it  something  more  than  '  REST.'  It  makes 
you  think  of  a  place  into  which  you  can  go  and  be 
away  from  common  observation.  There  are  a  great 
many  men  who  don't  care  about  everybody  know 
ing  where  or  how  they  spend  their  evenings." 

"I  see,"  returned  Lloyd.  "Yes,  'RETREAT'  is 
best.  Suppose  we  fix  on  that,  and  be  done  with  it  ?" 

"  Agreed."  And  so  our  saloon  was  called  "  THE 
RETREAT." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WE  opened  "  THE  RETREAT  "  with  a  grand 
flourish.  There  was  a  free  lunch  and  free 
liquor  for  our  friends  from  ten  until  two  o'clock,  and 
the  number  who  found  us  out  during  these  four 
hours  was  remarkable.  I  never  knew  that  I  had  a 
tithe  as  many.  Out  of  the  sixty  men  and  boys  in 
the  establishment,  not  less  than  forty  paid  us  the 
compliment  of  eating  our  lunch  and  drinking  our 
liquor.  Among  the  rest  came  John  Ashley,  the  son 
of  our  foreman,  a  nice  lad  of  sixteen.  He  dropped 
in  for  a  few  moments  when  his  father  happened  to  be 
away,  and  took  some  lunch  and  a  glass  of  beer. 

I  must  say  that  when  I  saw  John  come  in  I  had 
a  feeling  of  regret.  He  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  mere 
lad,  kind-hearted,  social  and  easily  influenced.  His 
father  was  a  little  strict  with  him — too  strict,  some  of 
us  thought. 

"  How  elegantly  you  are  fitted  up !"  he  said,  in  a 
pleased  way,  as  he  stood  at  the  bar  eating  his  lunch 
and  washing  down  the  mouthfuls  with  beer.  "  I 
guess  you'll  do  well." 

"  That  will  be  as  our  friends  say/'  replied  Lloyd, 
"  I  hope  we  shall  see  you  now  and  then  ?" 

"  Oh   yes ;    I'll   look  in  once  in  a  while  for  old 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  8 1 

acquaintance'  sake,  if  for  nothing  else.  But  it 
won't  do  to  let  the  old  gentleman  know  anything 
about  it." 

Poor  boy !  He  came  oftener  than  "  once  in  a 
while,"  and  a  great  deal  oftener  than  was  good  for 
him. 

On  the  next  day  we  had  a  large  placard  hung  out 
bearing  the  words,  "  Free  lunch  from  ten  till  twelve 
o'clock."  It  consisted  of  fried  liver  cut  into  little 
pieces,  and  we  gave  each  one  who  came  in  a  small 
plate  of  this  and  a  piece  of  bread,  costing  about  a 
cent.  Of  course  every  one  who  took  the  lunch  was 
expected  to  call  for  a  glass  of  something  to  drink. 
One  after  another  the  men  from  the  bindery  and 
printing-office  came  in  for  the  lunch,  and  some  came 
twice  within  the  two  hours  that  we  kept  lunch  on 
the  counter,  drinking  both  times.  Boys  came  as 
well  as  men.  The  sight  of  these  lads,  some  of  them 
as  young  as  twelve  years,  drinking  beer  with  a  sat 
isfied  air,  was  not  pleasant  to  me.  I  wished  they 
would  stay  away. 

Soon  after  eleven  o'clock,  John  Ashley  made  his 
appearance.  He  came  in  almost  stealthily. 

"  Ah  !  Good-day,  John,"  said  Lloyd,  putting  on 
a  pleasant  air.  "  I've  been  looking  for  you  all  the 
morning.  Let  me  make  you  up  a  nice  lunch  ;"  and 
he  filled  a  plate  heaping  full  and  gave  it  to  him,  add 
ing  a  large  piece  of  bread. 

"  Thank  you  !  That's  splendid.  I'm  pretty  sharp 
this  morning.  You  see,  I  was  a  little  late  getting 

F 


82  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

down  to  breakfast,  and  the  old  gentleman  hurried 
me  off  to  work  before  I  was  half  through.  A  glass 
of  beer,  if  you  please." 

Lloyd  drew  the  beer  and  set  it  before  him.  John 
ate  and  drank  hastily,  so  as  to  get  back  before  his 
father  missed  him. 

"  He'd  give  me  fits  if  he  caught  me  here,"  was  his 
remark  as  he  set  down  his  empty  glass  and  paid  his 
ten  cents. 

"  Call  round  in  the  evening  some  time,"  said 
Lloyd,  in  his  blandest  way.  "We  had  some  nice 
people  here  last  night." 

"  Thank  you  !  Maybe  I  will ;"  and  the  lad  hur 
ried  off. 

In  the  evening  he  came  in  a  little  after  eight 
o'clock.  Lloyd  was  very  gracious  to  him,  and  John 
was  pleased  and  flattered  by  the  attention. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Elegantly,"  was  replied.  "  Our  friends  have 
rallied  about  us  strong.  We  count  you  among  the 
number,  of  course." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  John.  "  Oh  yes,  you  may 
count  on  me,  only,  as  you  know,  Lloyd,  I  shall  have 
to  fight  a  little  shy.  A  glass  of  ale,  if  you  please.  It 
wouldn't  just  do  for  the  old  gentleman  to  know  I 
come  here,  '  Where  are  you  going,  John  ?'  he  asked 
to-night,  and  he  looked  at  me  sharply.  I  said, 
'  Only  round  to  Mr.  Oram's.'  I  don't  think  he  half 
believed  me."  . 

"  Bully  for  you  !"  cried  a  journeyman  printer  who 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  83 

was  standing  near,  and  he  slapped  John  familiarly 
on  the  shoulder. 

"  He's  a  brick,"  chimed  in  another. 

Lloyd  smiled  approvingly,  and  the  weak  lad, 
pleased  at  their  rough  compliments,  drank  off  his 
ale  with  as  manly  an  air  as  he  could  assume. 

"  Your  friend  Joe  Wilson's  up  stairs,"  said  Lloyd 
as  John,  after  drinking  his  ale,  stood  leaning  on  the 
counter. 

"  Is  he  ?"  a  pleased  expression  lighting  up  his 
face.  "  Which  way  do  you  go  ?" 

"  I'll  show  you ;"  and  Lloyd  took  him  through  a 
door  that  led  into  the  entry  and  up  to  the  second- 
story  back-building,  where  we  had  two  rooms  fitted 
up  for  little  parties  of  two,  three  or  four  who  liked 
to  have  a  social  hour  to  themselves  and  be  out  of 
common  observation.  There  was  a  private  entrance 
to  these,  so  that  any  person  who  did  not  wish  to  be 
seen  coming  through  the  bar  could  get  in  without 
attracting  notice. 

Joe  Wilson,  mentioned  incidentally  before,  was 
about  twenty  years  of  age.  Both  he  and  his  father 
worked  in  Harvey  st,  and  both  of  them  drank  too 
much.  The  father  was  one  of  your  old,  regular 
drinkers  who  has  to  keep  his  nerves  well  strung 
with  beer  or  spirits  daily  in  order  to  hold  them 
steady  enough  for  work.  Twice  within  a  year  had 
these  over-stimulated  nerves  refused  to  come  up  to 
time,  and  then  mania  seized  him.  His  last  attack 
had  been  unusually  severe,  and  wellnigh  finished 


84  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

him.     We  did  not  see  him  at  the  bindery  for  over  a 
week. 

He  and  old  Jacobs  the  pressman  were  drinking 
cronies,  and  both  of  them  had  been  pretty  mellow 
on  the  night  before — our  opening  night — not  going 
home  until  after  eleven  o'clock.  Joe  had  come  in 
soon  after  his  father.  When  the  old  man  saw  him, 
his  countenance  fell.  I  was  looking  at  him  just 
then,  and  noticed  the  change.  He  got  up,  and  cross 
ing  the  room,  met  his  son  not  far  from  the  door. 
They  stood  for  a  little  while  talking  in  low  tones. 
Once  or  twice  I  heard  an  impatient  word  from  Joe, 
and  then  this  sentence : 

"  Tisn't  any  use  to  talk,  father!  I  can't  stay 
home,  and  if  I  don't  come  here,  I'll  go  somewhere 
else." 

The  argument  ended.  Wilson  came  back  and  sat 
down  with  Jacobs,  and  Joe  asked  a  fellow-workman 
standing  near  the  bar  to  drink  with  him,  spending 
twenty  cents. 

"  It  isn't  just  the  thing  for  you,  Joe,"  said  Jacobs, 
who  was  a  great  talker,  and  not  over-particular 
about  what  he  said.  "  If  I  had  a  boy — which,  thank 
God,  I  have  not  now ! — I'd  tie  him  up  at  home 
rather  than  let  him  come  out  to  a  place  like  this  o 
nights." 

"  Easier  said  than  done,"  answered  Joe  with  a 
laugh. 

"  I'd  soon  show  you  that,  my  hearty,"  said  Jacobs. 

"  Would    you  ?     Don't   think    you'd    try   it    on 


TJircc   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  85 

twice,"  returned  Joe,  a  faint  tinge  of  anger  coming 
over  his  face. 

'  "  Leave  that  to  me,"  now  put  in  Wilson,  laying 
his  hand  on  the  arm  of  Jacobs.     "  I'll  settle  it." 

"  Hope  you  will,"  returned  the  pressman.  "  If 
you  don't,  it  will  settle  him." 

We  all  heard  the  talk,  and  it  caused  a  silence  in 
the  bar-room  for  some  moments.  This  was  broken 
by  one  of  the  guests  striking  up  a  song  and  singing 
through  two  comic  verses,  which  had  a  good  effect, 
causing  Jacobs,  who  was  getting  a  little  merry  with 
drink,  to  join  in  with  a  will. 

"  I  wish  Jacobs  wasn't  a  fool,"  said  Lloyd,  with 
much  irritation,  speaking  for  my  ear  alone. 

"  He's  peculiar,"  I  returned,  "  but  we  can't  choose 
our  customers,  you  know.  His  money  is  as  good  as 
anybody's,  and  if  he  wants  to  talk,  let  him." 

"  I'm  not  as  cool  as  you  are,"  he  replied.  "  I  don't 
like  to  be  insulted  in  my  own  house,  and  it  will  come 
to  that,  I'm  afraid,  before  a  week  goes  over  our 
heads." 

"Who  will  do  it?"  I  asked. 

"Jacobs." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not." 

As  I  said  this,  the  voice  of  Jacobs  again  broke 
out  in  a  high  key,  answering  to  some  remark  o*" 
Wilson's. 

"  It'll  be  a  curse  to  our  whole  establishment,  mark 
my  word  for  it,"  he  said,  striking  his  hand  upon  the 
table. 


86  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"And  to  you  among  the  rest,"  answered  a  printer 
who  worked  in  the  office  with  Jacobs. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  hurt  me,"  returned  the  pressman. 
"I'm  like  stale  fish — past  spoiling.  But  there  are  a 
good  many  chaps  about  our  place  who  can  be  hurt, 
and  who  will  be." 

And  he  cast  a  meaning  glance  about  the  room, 
letting  it  rest  on  one  and  another  of  the  inmates, 
most  of  whom  he  knew. 

"  There's  Harry  Glenn,  for  instance,"  calling  a  jour 
neyman  printer  by  name.  "  I  wonder  what  his  wife 
would  say  if 'she  knew  just  where  he  was  this 
evening?  I'm  afraid,  Harry,  you're  falling  from 
grace." 

Glenn  colored  deeply.  I  had  always  thought  him 
a  strictly  temperate  man,  and  was  gratified  and  a  lit 
tle  surprised  when  I  saw  him  come  in  to  the  morn 
ing  lunch  and  take  something  to  drink  with  the  rest. 
He  had  looked  pleased  and  was  quite  social,  saying 
some  complimentary  things  about  the  way  in  which 
"  The  Retreat "  was  fitted  up. 

Lloyd  was  getting  very  nervous,  and  gave  vent  to 
his  feelings  by  swearing  at  Jacobs  under  his  breath. 
But  the  old  man  didn't  hear  him,  and  it  wouldn't 
have  made  much  difference  if  he  had. 

Before  anything  further  that  was  unpleasant  could 
be  said,  three  hard-looking  young  men  came  in 
noisily.  They  were  strangers,  and  of  the  class  known 
as  roughs — ugly  customers  to  have,  always,  and 
never  very  welcome. 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  87 

"  Hi !"  exclaimed  one  of  them  as  he  stepped  into 
the  room  and  looked  boldly  around.  "  Shiny  as  a 
new  pin." 

"  Bully !"  responded  one  of  the  others,  throwing  a 
half-approving,  half-sinister  gaze  around. 

Then  they  walked  to  the  bar,  the  first  speaker 
saying,  "  What'll  ye  take,  Jack,  and  you,  Jerry  ?" 

"Anything,  so  it's  good  and  strong,"  was  the 
answer. 

"Well,  hand  out  the  whisky,"  said  the  one  who 
had  just  spoken. 

I  set  a  decanter  and  glasses  on  the  counter,  and 
he  took  up  the  bottle  and  poured  the  glasses  more 
than  half  full.  A  little  water  was  added  by  each, 
and  the  liquor  drank.  The  one  who  had  ordered 
the  drinks  laid  twenty-five  cents  on  the  counter,  and 
was  moving  away. 

"  It's  thirty  cents,"  said  I. 

"  The it  is !"  he  responded,  turning  upon  me 

with  an  ugly  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  sir.     Ten  cents  a  glass." 

"And  don't  you  wish  you  may  get  it?"  He 
leaned  over,  grinning  in  my  face,  while  his  two  com 
panions  ranged  themselves  by  his  side,  looking  ripe 
for  a  row. 

"  It's  our  price,"  I  answered  as  quietly  as  I  could 
speak.  "  But  no  matter,  gentlemen ;  have  it  your 
own  way.  It  isn't  worth  quarreling  about." 

"  It's  a  swindling  price,  by !"  and  he  swore 

savagely. 


88  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  If  you  don't  like  our  prices,  you  needn't  come 
again,"  I  returned,  betraying  a  little  anger.  "  It's  a 
free  country." 

" you,  and  your  prices  too !"  was  the  loud, 

menacing  retort.  The  three  men  meant  mischief. 
They  had  come  in  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  get 
up  a  row,  incited,  no  doubt,  by  some  low  tavern- 
keeper  in  the  neighborhood  who  was  afraid  our 
attractive  place  would  draw  away  custom. 

Six  or  seven  men,  our  friends  from  the  bindery 
and  printing-office,  came  forward  instantly  and  con 
fronted  the  three  fellows. 

"  And  what  in have  you  to  say  ?"  demanded 

one  of  the  roughs. 

"  That  will  depend  on  circumstances,"  was  coolly 
answered. 

As  quick  as  a  flash  three  murderous  knives 
gleamed  in  the  gaslight,  and  the  three  men  put 
themselves  in  an  attitude  of  defiance. 

The  blood  went  back  to  my  heart.  A  feeling  of 
terror  crept  over  me.  I  was  not  educated  to  anything 
like  this.  The  cruel  murder  I  saw  in  the  men's 
faces,  and  the  glitter  and  flash  of  their  knives,  caused 
me  to  shiver.  I  was  a  coward,  and  could  not  help 
it.  I  would  have  run  if  there  had  been  a  way  open 
for  me. 

"  Go  for  the  police,  Harvey,"  I  called  to  a  man 
near  the  door. 

He  opened  it  and  went  out  quickly. 

Three  ghairs,  in  the  hands  of  strong  men,  were  in 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  89 

the  air  above  the  heads  of  the  three  roughs  in  an 
instant  after  their  knives  were  drawn. 

"Hold,  hold,  gentlemen!"  cried  Lloyd.  "Don't 
strike !  Put  up  your  knives,  and  go." 

For  the  space  of  half  a  minute,  I  gazed  on  this 
tableau  of  three  savage-looking  men  holding  ugly 
knives,  and  three  others,  stern  and  resolute,  with 
chairs  lifted  ready  to  strike,  in  a  maze  of  suspense. 

"  Put  up  your  knives  !"  was  sternly  commanded. 

"  Put  down  your  chairs !"  was  answered,  accom 
panied  by  a  volley  of  oaths. 

Slowly  the  knives  were  returned  to  their  places  of 
concealment,  and  slowly  the  lifted  chairs  dropped 
toward  the  floor.  I  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

Two  policemen,  summoned  by  Harvey,  now  came 
in  hastily. 

"  What's  up  ?"  asked  one  of  them  as  he  stepped 
across  the  floor  and  looked  keenly  at  the  group  of 
men  surrounding  the  three  roughs. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Jack !"  and  he  confronted  one  of 
the  fellows.  "  What's  the  row  ?  Do  you  want  to 
get  down  below  again  ?" 

"  Not  over-anxious,"  was  replied,  in  a  dogged  sort 
of  growl. 

"Very  well;  then  you'd  better  make  off  with 
yourselves ;"  and  he  nodded  his  head  toward  the 
door.  "  If  you  can't  behave  decently,  keep  out  of 
decent  places." 

Jack,  as  he  was  called,  did  not  hesitate,  but  left  at 
once,  his  two  companions  going  with  him. 
8* 


90  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"Ugly  customers,"  said  the  policeman  who  had 
ordered  them  out.  "  What  did  they  do  ?" 

"  Refused  to  pay  the  price  of  their  drinks,  and 
then  tried  to  get  up  a  row." 

"  Exactly !  The  devil  himself  goes  into  these 
fellows  with  whisky,  and  there's  scarcely  a  night  that 
we  don't  have  trouble  with  some  of  them.  That 
Jack  Thompson — or  Fighting  Jack,  the  name  he  is 
best  known  by — is  one  of  the  worst  of  them  all 
He  was  in  the  State's  prison  for  manslaughter — it 
was  an  out-and-out  murder,  and  he  should  have  been 
hung — and  served  five  years.  His  sentence  was  for 
ten,  but — pardoned,  you  see !" 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?"  I  asked,  betraying  my  dis 
turbed  state  of  mind  both  in  voice  and  countenance. 

"  The  best  you  can,"  answered  the  policeman, 
rather  roughly,  I  thought.  "  Every  business  has  its 
customers,  and  these  are  some  of  yours ;"  and  he 
gave  his  head  a  twist  and  his  shoulders  a  shrug. 

"  Exactly,  captain  !"  chimed  in  old  Jacobs — "  ex 
actly  !  You  never  see  'em  at  the  bakers'  and  butch 
ers'  " 

"  Not  often,  I  guess.  They  let  other  people  do 
their  marketing,"  was  replied. 

The  old  man  now  came  forward,  ready  to  talk  and 
glad  of  a  new  listener. 

"  Guess  our  friends  here  will  see  such  chaps  pretty 
often." 

"Shouldn't  wonder.  There's  a  large  lot  of  'em 
about,  and  plenty  more  coming  on.  Six  or  seven 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  91 

thousand  places  like  this  in  our  city  breed  such  ver 
min  fast.  They  make  lots  of  work  for  us.  If  it 
wasn't  for  rum,  our  force  might  be  cut  down  one- 
half,  and  even  then  we'd  have  an  easy  time  of  it." 

"  Don't  doubt  it,"  said  Jacobs. 

"  Rum  don't  make  thieves  and  housebreakers," 
said  one  of  our  company,  who  felt  that  this  kind  of 
talk  was  rather  out  of  place. 

"  It  makes  poor  thoughtless,  shiftless,  desperate 
men,"  answered  the  policeman,  "  and  from  this  great 
army  come  most  of  your  criminals.  I  happen  to 
know." 

"  And  your  paupers,  too,"  chimed  in  Jacobs.  "  It's 
a  great  curse,  and  you  can't  make  anything  else  out 
of  it." 

The  policeman  looked  at  Jacobs  curiously,  and 
then  said, 

"  I  wonder  at  your  coming  here,  seeing  that  you 
understand  the  case  so  well." 

"  Don't  wonder  that  you  do,"  was  answered,  a 
low  gurgle  in  the  old  man's  throat  that  was  meant 
for  a  laugh.  "  But  I'm  one  of  the  cursed,  you  see. 
Got  a-going,  and  can't  stop.  All  down  hill." 

"  Take  something,"  I  said  now  to  the  policemen, 
recollecting  myself. 

"  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  was  answered  by  each.  They 
drank  like  men  who  were  used  to  it. 

"  Take  my  advice,"  said  one  of  them  as  he  turned 
to  go,  "and  keep  out  of  a  quarrel  with  these  roughs. 
They'll  look  in  upon  you  now  and  then,  sure,  and 


92  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

get  up  a  fight  if  they  can.  Drink  makes  them  little 
better  than  devils  incarnate.  It  was  only  last  week 
that  a  party  of  them  went  into  a  tavern  down  town, 
and  after  smashing  up  things  cut  the  tavern-keeper 
with  a  knife  shockingly.  They're  a  desperate  set, 
and  think  no  more  of  putting  a  knife  into  a  man 
than  they  would  into  a  pig." 

I  didn't  feel  very  cheerful  after  this.  We  shut  up 
at  twelve  o'clock  that  night,  having  taken  in  over 
forty  dollars  for  drinks.  It  was  a  good  beginning, 
more  than  coming  up  to  our  expectations.  I  felt 
that  our  new  enterprise  was  an  assured  success. 

But  I  could  not  get  to  sleep  until  near  morning. 
I  dreamed  of  being  chased  by  devilish-looking  men 
who  wanted  to  murder  me,  of  fighting  in  the  bar 
room  and  a  jumble  of  other  dreadfully  disagree 
able  things.  I  awoke  as  the  sun  shone  into  my 
window  with  a  feverish  feeling  and  a  dull  headache, 
and  as  the  scenes  of  the  previous  night  rose  vividly 
before  me  I  felt  a  strange  depression  of  spirits.  The 
shadow  of  some  great  evil  seemed  upon  me. 

It  came  very  distinctly  to  my  mind  that  from  the 
very  beginning  of  this  business  matters  somehow 
or  other  got  at  cross  purposes  both  with  Lloyd  and 
myself.  Every  day  I  grew  less  and  less  comfortable 
and  at  ease  in  my  feelings.  The  death  of  Perry 
Flint  and  his  wife  gave  me  a  shock  that  it  seemed 
as  if  I  would  never  get  over.  I  was  troubled,  too,  in 
spite  of  myself,  about  Mrs.  Lloyd  and  her  daughter 
Maggy,  who  were  distressed  beyond  measure  be- 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  93 

cause  of  this  new  business.  They  felt  it  as  a  sore 
disgrace,  and  saw  nothing  in  it  but  shame  and  evil. 
Lloyd  was  angry  and  rough  with  them,  as  he  had 
never  been  before. 

Then,  I  did  not  feel  right  about  Mr.  Ashley's  son 
and  two  or  three  others  in  the  bindery — weak  lads 
whom  we  would  be  almost  sure  to  lead  into  tempta 
tion,  perhaps  ruin.  I  had  not  been  able  to  get  the 
father's  strong  sentences  out  of  my  mind.  Last  but 
not  least  of  the  depressing  influences  that  now  shad 
owed  my  spirits  was  that  visit  of  those  roughs.  I 
had  not  counted  on  customers  like  them. 

"  Old  Jacobs  may  be  right,  after  all,"  I  said,  "  and 
the  whole  business  be  accursed." 

In  this  not  very  pleasant  frame  of  mind  I  entered 
on  my  .second  day's  business  of  saloon-keeping. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MY  story  got  mixed  a  little  in  the  last  chapter. 
I  was  speaking  of  John  Ashley's  visit  on  the 
second  evening,  when  the  mention  of  Joe  Wilson  as 
being  up  stairs  in  one  of  the  rooms  led  me  to  refer 
more  particularly  to  him  and  his  father,  and  then  to 
give  a  history  of  what  took  place  on  the  night  that 
followed  our  opening. 

When  Lloyd  came  back  into  the  bar-room  after 
taking  young  Ashley  up  stairs,  as  mentioned  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  I  said  to  him,  with  something 
of  the  concern  and  uneasiness  I  felt  in  my  voice, 

"  Look  here,  Tom  :  I  don't  just  like  this  thing.  1 
wish  John  Ashley  and  two  or  three  other  young 
fellows  from  the  bindery  and  printing-office  would 
keep  away  from  here.  It  is  not  good  for  them." 

He  laughed  in  my  face,  answering, 

"  Oh,  you'll  soon  get  over  this  sort  of  squeamish- 
ness.  If  they  don't  come  here,  they'll  go  somewhere 
else.  And  there  are  worse  places,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  weakly  giving  up  the  opposition  I 
had  intended  to  make. 

"As  for  Joe  Wilson,"  remarked  Lloyd,  "he's 
stepping  in  his  father's  tracks,  and  needs  no  help 
from  us.  He's  bound  to  spend  nearly  all  he  gets  in 

94 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  95 

liquor,  and  the  money  might  as  well  come  to  us  as 
to  anybody  else." 

"  Joe's  a  hard  case  for  one  so  young,"  I  returned. 
"  But  I  don't  care  for  him  so  much.  He's  spoiled 
already.  It's  on  young  Ashley's  account  that  I  feel 
troubled.  Joe's  not  a  good  leader  for  him." 

"  What  a  white-livered  chap  you  are,  Hiram !" 
exclaimed  Lloyd,  with  undisguised  contempt.  "  Take 
my  advice  and  sell  out.  I'll  find  half  a  dozen  men 
any  one  of  whom  will  give  a  handsome  bonus  to 
change  places  with  you.  You  never  had  such  an 
opportunity  in  your  life,  and  now,  just  as  Fortune 
meets  you  with  a  smile,  you  begin  to  chaffer  with 
her.  Out  on  you !  Be  a  man,  not  a  whining 
woman." 

There  was  no  further  opportunity  for  talk.  Our 
friends  were  beginning  to  come  in  freely,  and  we  had 
other  things  to  do.  Somehow,  every  time  I  saw  the 
door  begin  to  open  I  had  a  feeling  of  unpleasant 
suspense,  and  looked  keenly  to  see  who  the  new 
comer  might  be.  I  dreaded  another  visit  from  the 
roughs — dreaded  lest  Mr.  Ashley  should  come  in 
seeking  for  his  son — dreaded  vaguely  I  knew  not 
what.  I  was  exceedingly  uncomfortable — foolishly 
so,  I  said  to  myself — and  did  not  get  over  this  feel 
ing  until  I  had  taken  a  stiff  glass  or  two  of  brandy 
and  water.  After  that  I  was  all  right,  and  drew  and 
poured  and  mixed  liquors  with  as  ready  a  will  as  my 
partner  and  without  a  care  for  the  good  or  evil 
of  any  one. 


96  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Among  our  visitors  from  the  bindery  and  printing- 
office  this  evening  was  Harry  Glenn,  the  young 
printer  mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter.  He  had 
a  wife  and  one  child. 

"  Why,  Harry !  Glad  to  see  you !"  I  heard  one 
of  the  men  exclaim  as  he  came  in. 

Glenn  returned  the  greeting  cordially,  and  then 
said, 

"  Take  a  glass  of  beer  with  me  ?" 

"  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  was  answered,  and  they 
stepped  forward  to  the  bar. 

"Thought  of  your  nice,  cozy  place  after  supper, 
Hiram,"  said  Glenn  as  he  stood  with  glass  in  hand, 
"  and  couldn't  stay  away.  I  declare  !  You  and  Lloyd 
have  done  the  thing  up  elegantly.  And  then  one 
can  meet  the  fellows  here,  and  it's  pleasant  to  see 
people.  Don't  know  when  I  was  in  a  tavern  before 
last  night." 

"Always  glad  to  have  you  come  in,"  I  replied. 

"  I  wonder  what  his  wife  would  say  if  she  knew 
where  he  was?"  remarked  a  fellow-journeyman  as 
Glenn  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  bar-room. 

"  Growl,  like  some  other  women  I  know,  instead 
of  trying  to  make  home  comfortable,"  was  answered 
by  a  man  who  was  leaning  on  the  bar.  He  had 
been  drinking  before  he  came  in,  and  was  consider 
ably  in  liquor. 

"  I  don't  know  about  her  growling,"  said  another. 
"  She  isn't  that  kind." 

"  Who  was  she  ?"  asked  the  first  speaker. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  97 

"  Heniy  Lawrence's  daughter." 

"  Katy  Lawrence  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh  !  I  knew  Katy  very  well.  She  was  a  pretty, 
gay  little  thing.  I'd  forgotten  about  her  marrying 
Glenn.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  wife  she  makes  ?" 

"  So-so-ish,"  was  answered  with  a  lifting  of  the 
speaker's  brows  and  a  meaning  shrug  of  his  shoul 
ders.  "  It  was  very  nice  to  get  married.  Most  girls 
think  so,  but  I  have  my  guess  about  the  house 
keeping  and  all  that.  Men  about  to  marry  are  apt, 
you  know,  to  draw  fancy  pictures  of  home-life — the 
cozy  room,  the  warm  evening  fire,  the  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  and,  above  all,  the  smiling  young  wife 
daintily  attired,  with,  maybe,  a  white  rosebud  in  her 
hair,  to  crown  her  husband's  blessings.  But  he 
doesn't  always  find  it  so.  The  young  wife  has  her 
fancies  too.  She  may  be  fonder  of  social  life  than 
her  husband,  may  have  a  love  of  dress  and  admi 
ration,  may  have  no  taste  for  household  affairs,  may 
be  weak,  vain,  selfish,  self-indulgent  and  slovenly  at 
home.  The  more  of  them  we  have,  friend  Hiram, 
the  better  for  you." 

And  the  man  laughed,  but  not  heartily.  There 
was  an  undertone  of  pain  in  his  voice. 

"  Then  we're  likely  to  see  Glenn  once  in  a  while  ?" 
I  remarked. 

"  Treat  him  well,  and  you'll  see  him  often,"  was 
the  reply. 

"  We  expect  to  do  that  to  every  one,"  said  I. 

9  G 


08  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Of  course.  You  know  your  business ;"  and  the 
man  turned  and  went  away. 

There  were  now  in  the  room  four  boys  who 
worked  in  the  bindery.  They  were  between  the 
ages  of  fourteen  and  seventeen.  Only  two  of  them 
had,  so  far,  come  to  the  bar  for  liquor.  The  others 
had  not  yet  acquired  an  appetite  for  drink,  and 
merely  dropped  in  to  meet  each  other  and  pass  the 
time  away.  Two  were  the  sons  of  widowed  moth 
ers  and  another  the  son  of  a  poor  clergyman,  all  of 
whom  would  have  been  in  great  trouble  of  mind  if 
they  had  known  into  what  associations  and  peril 
their  sons  were  drifting. 

"  Let's  have  some  beer,  Ned  Allen,"  I  heard  one 
of  these  lads  say  to  the  clergyman's  son. 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  at  the  same  time  laying 
his  hand  against  his  empty  pocket. 

"Oh,  I'll  stand  treat.  Come  along!"  urged  the 
other,  and  the  two  boys  came  up.  Small  glasses  of 
beer  were  called  for,  and  I  drew  and  set  them  on 
the  counter.  They  were  minors  ;  it  was  against  the 
law  to  sell  them  intoxicating  drinks,  and  punishable 
with  fine  and  imprisonment.  I  knew  this,  and 
thought  of  it  as  I  handed  them  the  beer,  but  I  was 
reckless  now.  The  brandy  I  had  taken  made  it  all 
right  with  my  conscience,  and  I  silently  cursed  the 
law. 

The  boys  emptied  their  glasses,  young  Allen  in  a 
half-shy  way,  as  if  conscious  that  he  was  out  of 
place  and  doing  wrong. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  99 

When  I  next  took  notice  of  the  lads,  they  were 
listening,  with  evident  satisfaction,  to  some  very  dirty 
and  obscene  talk  that  was  going  on  among  two  or 
three  men  of  the  coarser  sort,  joining  in  the  laugh 
when  anything  witty  was  said,  the  wit  always  turn 
ing  on  something  grossly  indelicate.  So  their  minds 
were  filled  with  lewd  ideas  and  their  imaginations 
corrupted. 

"  I  wonder  if  John  Ashley  has  gone  home  yet  ?" 
I  remarked  to  Lloyd,  about  half-past  ten  o'clock  that 
evening. 

"  I  guess  so,"  he  replied. 

"  Haven't  seen  him  come  down,"  I  said. 

"Went  out  at  the  side  door,  most  likely." 

I  ran  up  stairs  to  see  if  this  were  so,  and  found 
him  leaning  on  a  table  fast  asleep.  I  aroused  him 
with  some  difficulty.  To  my  great  relief,  he  was 
not  drunk.  He  was  tired,  having  been  at  work  all 
day,  and,  after  spending  an  hour  or  two  in  talking 
and  playing  cards,  bent  down  over  the  table  at  which 
he  was  sitting,  and  fell  asleep. 

As  soon  as  he  came  fairly  to  his  senses  he  looked 
scared  and  hurried  away.  I  said  to  him  as  he  was 
going, 

"  Mind,  John,  it  won't  do  to  say  you  were  here." 

"  Oh  no.  Trust  me  for  that,"  he  answered, 
promptly.  Then,  with  a  sly,  comical  look,  "  Been 
to  the  reading  club.  That's  the  go!  All  right!" 
and  away  he  went,  taking  the  side  door  instead  of 
passing  through  the  bar. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WE  could  not  have  asked  a  better  beginning. 
Our  customers  were  at  our  very  door,  and 
came  without  invitation.  We  needed  no  drummers 
nor  travelers,  no  advertising  nor  expensive  ways 
of  drawing  attention  to  our  wares.  Men's  appetites 
were  all  on  our  side,  and  brought  us  into  favor. 

For  the  first  two  or  three  months  scarcely  a  day 
went  over  that  I  was  not  surprised  at  the  character 
of  some  of  our  customers.  Men  from  all  grades  of 
life  came  in  to  drink,  among  them  citizens  of  high 
social  and  even  religious  standing.  Old  gray-headed 
men  and  youngsters  in  their  teens  often  stood  side 
by  side  at  the  bar  drinking.  The  father  would  come 
in,  get  his  glass  and  go,  and  soon  after  the  son  would 
stand  in  his  place,  just  missing  each  other.  Now 
and  then  a  father  and  his  son  would  come  face  to 
face,  each  surprised — maybe  pained  and  shocked 
— at  the  encounter.  Clerks  and  employers  would 
have  like  meetings,  often  to  the  chagrin  and  un 
easiness  of  the  former. 

"  This  isn't  the  place  for  you,"  I  have  heard  said 
hundreds  of  times  by  the  old  to  the  young,  by  the 
merchant  to  his  clerk,  by  the  father  to  his  son,  by 
100 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  101 

the  old  tippler  to  some  junior  friend  met  unexpect 
edly  in  our  bar-room.  I  could  not  help  noting  it  as 
remarkable  that,  with  few  exceptions,  the  old  warned 
the  young,  and  the  toper  the  moderate  man,  to  keep 
away  from  bar-rooms  and  let  drink  alone. 

"  If  you  don't  look  out,  it  will  catch  you  !"  "  I 
don't  like  to  see  you  here  so  often,  my  young 
friend!"  "  Tisn't  safe,  John!"  "Take  care,  my 
boy !"  "  You'll  go  to  the  devil  faster  than  a  horse 
will  carry  you  if  you  don't  keep  out  of  these 
places!" 

Words  of  warning  like  these,  spoken  in  all  seri 
ousness  and  by  men  who  were  free  drinkers  them 
selves,  I  have  heard  more  times  than  I  can  count. 
Most  of  these  men  felt  safe  from  excess  themselves, 
but  saw  and  feared  the  danger  to  others.  How  many 
of  them  have  I  seen  pass  the  line  of  self-control  and 
become  the  slaves  of  appetite ! 

I  soon  came  to  understand  that,  with  few  excep 
tions,  our  business  was  not  regarded  as  good  for  the 
people,  that  it  was  attended  with  evils  of  the  worst 
kind,  and  that  our  best  customers  were  often  strong 
est  in  reprobation  and  warning. 

A  few  weak  young  men  who  were  flattered  by 
our  familiarity  and  pleased  with  our  attentions — idle 
young  men  of  bad  habits  and  loose  principles — pro 
fessed  to  think  it  all  right  But,  somehow,  I  never 
had  any  real  respect  for  them.  There  was  another 
class,  regular  hard  cases,  bold  and  bad,  who  never 
talked  anything  but  obscenity  and  coarse  blackguard- 


102  ThMt    Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

ism — tavern-loungers  by  day  and  by  night,  except 
when  engaged  in  schemes  of  money-getting  under 
stood  only  by  themselves.  These  were  out  and  out 
on  our  side. 

There  was  no  getting  away  from  this  fact.  It 
became  more  and  more  apparent  every  day.  Our 
business  was  hurtful,  and  in  low  esteem  by  all  for 
whose  good  opinion  any  one  cared. 

But  I  gradually  grew  hardened  and  indifferent  to 
what  others  might  say  or  think. 

"  Who  cares  for  me  ?"  I  would  sometimes  say, 
crushing  down  little  emotions  of  shame  that  stirred 
in  my  better  nature.  "  If  I  wanted  a  dollar,  who 
would  offer  it  to  me  ?  I  might  die  as  a  dog  in  the 
street,  and  nobody  give  me  anything  but  a  kick. 
It's  every  man  for  himself,  and  the  devil  take  the 
hindmost." 

So  I  stifled  all  better  feelings,  and  threw  myself 
with  a  will  into  this  business  of  getting  gain  by 
ministering  to  an  appetite  that  hurts  or  depraves  all 
who  indulge  in  it.  I  shut  my  eyes  to  all  conse 
quences,  and  determined  to  go  ahead. 

Lloyd  had  not  been  troubled  from  the  first  by  any 
weakness  or  scruples.  He  dropped  down  at  once 
to  the  cold  depths  of  indifference  for  others.  He 
went  in  to  make  money,  and  make  it  he  would.  If 
any  one  was  fool  enough  to  drink  more  than  was 
good  for  him,  the  sin  and  shame  lay  at  his  own  door, 
not  at  ours.  So  he  felt,  and  so  he  talked  if  the  sub 
ject  came  up.  He  was  apt  to  be  rough  on  your 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  103 

regular  old  bruisers,  and  wouldn't  let  a  drunken 
man  stay  long  in  the  bar  if  he  could  help  it. 

In  less  than  six  months  we  found  ourselves  in  a 
highly-flourishing  condition — lots  of  good  custom, 
and  money  flowing  in  by  a  hundred  little  streams. 

"  But  what  of  Lloyd's  family  ?  of  Maggy  and  her 
mother?"  is  asked.  "  Have  they  become  reconciled 
to  the  new  order  of  things  ?  Have  the  silks  and 
ribbons  prevailed  ?" 

Let  us  see.  One  day — it  was  only  a  few  weeks 
after  we  opened  "The  Retreat" — Thomas  Lloyd's 
oldest  boy,  who  had  been  sent  away  from  the  bind 
ery  by  the  foreman  for  taking  a  mug  of  beer  to  one 
of  the  men,  which  was  against  the  rule,  came  in  from 
the  street  and  said  something  to  his  father.  Lloyd 
looked  disturbed,  and  putting  on  his  hat,  went  out, 
and  was  gone  for  over  an  hour. 

"Anything  the  matter?"  I  asked,  on  his  return. 

"  Yes.  Maggy  came  home  sick.  She  fainted  in 
school,"  he  answered,  anger  and  concern  strug 
gling,  I  could  see,  in  his  mind. 

"  Nothing  serious,  I  hope  ?" 

"I  don't  exactly  make  it  out,"  he  said,  "but 
I've  my  guess.  It's  something  to  do  with  that 
Watson  you  saw  at  our  house  one  Sunday  even 
ing.  He's  a  teacher  in  the  school  where  she  goes." 

"  Has  he  been  to  see  her  since  that  evening  ?" 
1  inquired. 

"  Oh  yes.  He  called  for  her  on  the  next  Sunday 
evening,  and  they  went  to  church  together.  I  had 


IO4  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

a  mind  to  tell  her  she  couldn't  go,  but,  somehow, 
hadn't  the  heart.  But  I  knew  well  enough  that  if  a 
chap  like  Watson  took  a  fancy  to  Maggy,  and  she 
got  a  fancy  for  him,  there'd  be  trouble  in  the  camp 
when  the  saloon  question  came  up." 

"  Has  he  been  to  see  her  since  we  opened  this 
place  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  'most  every  Sunday  evening.  But  he's 
stopped  coming,  I  believe.  He  couldn't  stand  our 
new  business,  I  fancy." 

"  Then  she's  well  rid  of  him,"  said  I.  "  If  he  had 
any  true  feeling  for  her,  a  trifle  like  that  wouldn't 
throw  him  off." 

"  Curse  him  !"  Lloyd  answered,  bitterly.  "  She's 
as  good  as  he  is,  any  day,  and  a  thousand  times 
better." 

"  How  did  she  seem  when  you  came  away  ?"  I 
asked. 

"  I  left  her  in  bed  looking  as  white  as  a  sheet, 
and  with  something  so  strange  in  her  face  that  it 
made  me  sick  to  look  at  her." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?" 

"  Nothing.     You  can't  get  a  word  out  of  her." 

"  Did  anybody  come  home  with  her  from  school  ?" 

"  One  of  the  girls,  but  she  couldn't  tell  anything, 
except  that  Maggy  fainted  in  her  seat,  and  that  it 
took  a  long  time  to  bring  her  to." 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  that  it  will  be  best  for  her  not 
to  go  back  to  the  normal  school." 

Lloyd  did  not  reply,  and  I  made  no  guess  at  what 


Three  Years  in  a  Man- Trap.  105 

was  in  his  thoughts.  After  an  hour  or  so  he  put  on 
his  hat  to  go  out.  We  were  quite  busy,  it  being 
near  noon,  the  men  coming  in  freely  from  the  bind 
ery  and  printing-office  for  lunch  and  a  drink. 

"I'm  going  home  for  a  little  while,  Hiram,"  he 
said,  "  and  you  must  get  along  the  best  you  can. 
I'll  send  Thomas  down  to  help  in  my  place  until  the 
throng  is  over.  He  isn't  doing  anything  just  now, 
and  might  as  well  make  himself  useful.  Besides,  it 
will  keep  him  out  of  mischief." 

Thomas  made  his  appearance  in  half  an  hour,  and 
took  his  place  behind  the  bar  with  a  ready  will.  He 
evinced  no  shrinking  or  shame.  I  looked  at  him  as 
he  handled  the  glasses  with  the  air  of  an  adept,  and 
felt  sorry  for  the  boy.  If  he  had  been  mine,  I  would 
about  as  soon  have  seen  him  dead  as  behind  our  bar. 

Poor  Maggy !  I  must  talk  about  her  now.  As  I 
have  already  said,  she  was  not  like  the  ordinary  run 
of  girls,  but  in  most  things  unlike  them.  There  was 
a  refinement  and  maidenly  reserve  about  her,  as  she 
grew  into  young  womanhood,  in  marked  contrast 
with  the  jaunty,  half-indelicate  freedom  too  often 
seen.  Her  face  was  fair  and  very  attractive,  her 
eyes  blue  and  tender,  her  manners  quiet  and  re 
served,  almost  to  shyness.  She  was  refined  and  sen 
sitive  by  nature,  with  a  clear  mind  and  quick  feel 
ings.  As  remarked  before,  you  never  heard  her  say 
a  weak  or  foolish  thing. 

She  entered  the  normal  school,  about  a  year 
before  the  time  of  her  introduction  to  the  reader, 


io6  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

with  the  purpose  of  qualifying  herself  for  a  teacher, 
and  was  making  good  progress  in  her  studies. 
Lloyd  had  been  very  proud  as  well  as  fond  of 
Maggy,  and  often  talked  with  a  kind  of  tender 
warmth  of  her  goodness  as  a  child  and  her  smart 
ness  as  a  scholar.  The  first  time  I  ever  heard  him 
speak  to  her  in  anything  but  a  gentle  way  was  on 
the  occasion  of  Watson's  visit  that  Sunday  afternoon. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  tavern  scheme,  he  would 
have  been  pleased  and  flattered  by  the  young 
teacher's  attention  to  his  daughter.  But  under  this 
new  state  of  things  it  was  like  a  stone  dropped 
suddenly  into  a  shallow  stream,  causing  it  to  fret 
and  ripple. 

Mark  Watson,  the  young  man  referred  to,  was  a 
teacher  of  mathematics  in  the  normal  school.  He 
was  well  connected  in  the  city,  his  family  moving  in 
some  of  its  best  circles.  At  the  death  of  his  father, 
a  well-known  merchant,  it  was  found  that  an  estate 
supposed  to  be  very  large  would  not  yield  over 
fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  dollars.  There  were  two 
sons  and  one  daughter.  The  young  men  were  at 
college,  but  had  to  come  home  and  look  the  new 
condition  of  things  in  the  face.  There  was  no  will, 
but  the  young  men  left  everything  in  the  hands  of 
their  mother  and  sister,  threw  themselves  out  into 
the  world  to  fight  the  battle  of  life. 

Mark,  the  elder,  who  was  nearest  the  end  of  col 
lege  work,  stood  high  in  his  class  in  almost  every 
thing,  but  especially  excelled  in  mathematics.  Soon 


Three  Yean  in  a  Man-Trap.  107 

after  he  came  home  he  succeeded,  through  the  aid 
of  friends,  in  getting  an  appointment  in  the  normal 
school  as  teacher.  Here  he  met  Maggy  Lloyd,  and 
was  attracted  by  the  rare  beauty  of  her  face,  but  more 
by  the  charm  of  her  mind  and  manners.  There  was 
something  so  fresh  and  sweet  and  artless  about  her, 
and  yet  so  grave  and  womanly,  that  he  found  the 
interest  at  first  awakened  deepening  into  admiration, 
and  then  into  a  warmer  sentiment. 

As  for  Maggy,  her  heart  soon  began  to  beat 
quicker  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  she  was  deeply  in  love  with  him.  How 
could  she  well  help  it?  He  was  handsome,  culti 
vated  and  refined,  superior  in  most  things  to  any 
of  the  young  men  she  had  met  in  her  humble 
sphere — a  real  man  embodying  her  heart's  ideal. 

Mark  was  sincere  in  his  admiration.  The  more 
he  saw  of  Maggy,  the  better  he  liked  her.  There 
was  a  struggle  with  pride  when  he  learned  that  her 
father  was  only  a  journeyman  bookbinder,  but  the 
beauty  and  sweetness  of  her  character  were  influ 
ences  stronger  than  any  considerations  of  family  or 
position.  So  the  young  man  let  his  heart  lead  him 
whither  it  would. 

As  for  Maggy,  she  was  one  of  the  kind  that  never 
love  by  halves  and  never  love  twice.  I  have  read  of 
such  in  stories,  but  never  saw  a  case  in  real  life  before. 

Well,  things  went  on  between  them  until  Maggy 
was  too  deeply  in  love  ever  to  get  out.  I  don't 
know  that  there  was  an  actual  engagement,  but 


io8  Three  Years  in  a  Man- Trap. 

looks  and  tones  and  actions  all  spoke  of  love,  and 
they  understood  each  other. 

For  several  weeks  after  our  saloon  was  opened 
young  Watson  called  regularly  every  Sunday  even 
ing  for  Maggy,  and  they  went  to  church  together. 
He  also  came  to  see  her  at  least  once  during  the 
week,  but  one  Sunday  evening  he  failed  to  appear  as 
usual.  Maggy  was  ready  waiting  for  him,  feeling 
nervous  and  troubled,  as  she  always  did  now.  A 
great  evil  somewhere  in  the  not  far  distant  future 
had  cast  its  baleful  shadow  upon  her.  She  felt  it 
coming  with  the  sure  tread  of  relentless  fate,  and 
was  holding  her  breath  for  the  shock  that  was  to  de 
stroy  hope  if  not  life.  Watson  could  not  accept  the 
disgrace  of  her  lot ;  she  felt  and  knew  it,  but  had  not 
the  strength  to  free  him  by  a  word.  She  must  wait, 
suffering  and  in  suspense,  until  the  truth  came  to 
him,  as  sooner  or  later  it  must  come,  and  then  bear 
as  best  she  could  the  desertion  and  heart-break  that 
would  surely  follow. 

As  I  was  saying,  the  young  man  did  not  call  for 
Maggy  one  Sunday  evening  a  few  weeks  after  our 
tavern  was  opened.  She  waited  for  him,  dressed  foi 
church,  until  half  an  hour  after  the  usual  time  of  his 
arrival,  and  then  went  quietly  up  to  her  room,  not- 
coming  down  again.  In  the  morning  she  looked  so 
changed  on  meeting  the  family  that  her  father  and 
mother  became  anxious,  fearing  she  was  ill.  Mrs. 
Lloyd  understood  the  case  a  great  deal  better  than 
her  husband.  He  had  been  too  much  interested  in 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  109 

his  new  business  of  liquor-selling — which  occupied 
him  on  Sundays  as  well  as  week-days — to  notice  or 
care  for  anything  else.  His  wife  had  told  him  of 
Watson's  Sunday-evening  calls  for  Maggy,  but  it 
went  into  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other.  What  was  a 
matter  of  beaux  and  church-going  to  him  now  ? 
He  had  more  important  matters  on  hand.  If  Maggy 
liked  it,  he  was  satisfied.  In  fact,  it  pleased  him  at 
the  moment  to  know  that  his  new  vocation  had  not 
hurt  Maggy  in  the  young  teacher's  estimation,  as  he 
had  every  reason  to  fear  that  it  would. 

The  girl  could  not  eat  anything  at  breakfast,  and 
both  her  father  and  mother  were  a  little  troubled 
about  her,  and  insisted  that  she  should  stay  at  home 
from  school,  but  neither  argument  nor  persuasion 
had  any  influence  with  Maggy.  To  school  she 
would  go.  What  occurred  there  I  was  never  able  to 
learn.  In  some  way  the  young  man  let  her  know 
that  he  had  discovered  the  new  occupation  of  her 
father,  and  that,  in  consequence,  there  must  be  an 
end  to  their  intimacy.  It  was  for  this  assurance,  if 
it  was  to  come,  that  she  had  gone  to  school,  nerved 
for  the  shock,  and  vainly  trusting  in  her  strength  to 
bear  it. 

And  so  the  sweet  and  tender  flower  was  struck 
down,  the  loving  heart  broken,  the  beautiful  life  that 
might  have  been  a  happy  one  marred  and  hurt 
beyond  repair.  It  was  the  first  blighted  fruit  the 
hand  of  Thomas  Lloyd  plucked  from  the  evil  tree 
he  had  planted. 
10 


HO  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Poor  Maggy  never  went  back  to  school.  For 
nearly  a  week  she  lay  in  a  dull,  half-conscious  con 
dition,  answering  no  questions  and  taking  scarcely 
any  food.  It  was  feared  that  she  might  lose  her 
reason.  Her  father  was  alarmed  and  distressed,  and 
went  back  and  forth  from  his  home  and  our  tavern 
several  times  each  day. 

Business  steadily  increased.  The  fame  of  our 
cozy  "  Retreat "  widened.  It  was  becoming  a  favor 
ite  resort  for  quite  a  number  of  respectable  men  who 
didn't  like  to  be  seen  going  into  more  public  places. 
They  could  pass  into  Harvey  street  as  if  on  business, 
and  then  slip  round  into  our  house,  the  chances  be 
ing  as  one  in  ten  that  nobody  would  suspect  where 
they  were  going. 

So  Lloyd  and  I  were  kept  very  busy,  and  he  could 
not  be  spared  unless  some  one  took  his  place.  For 
this  reason,  on  the  first  day  of  Maggy's  illness 
Thomas  had  been  sent  to  help  me,  and  as  she  con 
tinued  in  what  seemed  a  critical  condition,  Lloyd 
went  home  several  times  each  day,  and  so  the  need 
for  Thomas  remained,  and  the  boy  continued  to  as 
sist  at  the  bar. 

After  the  first  day,  I  saw  him  help  himself  to  beer 
with  his  lunch,  imitating  those  who  came  in  from 
ten  to  twelve  in  the  morning. 

"  I  guess  you'd  better  let  that  alone,"  I  said. 

He  was  not  pleased  with  this  interference,  and  in 
looks,  if  not  in  words,  told  me  to  mind  my  own 
.business. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  in 

14  You  can  go  to  the  devil,  for  all  I  care,"  was  my 
unspoken  thought,  for  his  manner  irritated  me.  And 
I  didn't  care  then,  and  tried  not  to  care  afterward. 

"  It's  none  of  my  business,"  I  said  to  myself. 
"  Lloyd  must  look  after  his  own.  If  he  can  afford 
to  have  Tom  here,  I  can." 

It  was  amazing  to  see  how  that  boy  changed  in  a 
week.  In  the  bindery  he  had  been  noted  for  in 
dustry  and  a  quiet,  good  behavior.  We  all  liked 
him,  and  it  was  often  said  that  he  would  make  a 
good  and  substantial  man. 

But  a  single  week  amid  the  associations  of  a  bar 
room  transformed  the  modest,  retiring  boy  into  a  free- 
talking,  incipient  rowdy,  who  could  not  only  laugh 
at  an  obscene  jest,  but  utter  one  himself.  When  his 
father  was  present,  he  kept  quiet  and  aloof  from  the 
men  who  lounged  in  the  bar-room  and  talked  about 
things  no  boy  could  hear  of  without  being  corrupted, 
but  as  soon  as  Lloyd  went  out  Tom  drifted  into  the 
society  of  those  present.  It  seemed  to  have  a  fasci 
nation  for  him. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Maggy  rallied  a  little  from 
the  shock  which  had  so  broken  her  down,  and  Lloyd 
no  longer  absented  himself  from  business.  I  ex 
pected  Tom  to  be  kept  at  home  after  this,  but  he 
came  as  usual,  and  assisted  at  the  bar. 

His  father  had  never  seen  Tom  drink  anything, 
but  one  day,  coming  on  him  unexpectedly,  he  found 
him  with  a  glass  of  beer  at  his  lips.  Lloyd  was 
very  angry,  and  rated  the  boy  soundly,  threatening 


112  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

to  thrash  him  if  ever  he  caught  him  at  that  work 
again. 

"  I  don't  see  what  else  you  could  expect,"  I  said  to 
him  on  the  first  opportunity.  "  If  you  put  temptation 
in  the  boy's  way,  what  is  to  hinder  him  from  falling  ?" 

"  Have  you  seen  him  drink  before  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  ;  "  every  day." 

"  Why  did  you  let  him  ?" 

"  I  said  what  I  could,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  The 
fact  is,  Tom,"  I  added,  "this  is  no  place  for  your 
son.  It  will  be  his  ruin.  If  he  were  my  boy,  I'd 
rather  see  him  dead  than  to  run  the  chances  of  such 
an  education  as  he  will  get  here." 

A  look  of  trouble  came  into  Lloyd's  face. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  him?"  he  asked.  "That 
Ashley  sent  him  away  from  the  bindery  out  of  spite 
to  me,  I  know,  and,  curse  him  !  I'll  pay  him  off.  I'll 
make  him  sorry  till  the  day  of  his  death." 

"Let  Tom  go  to  school,"  I  replied;  "you  can 
afford  it  now." 

"  School  ?  He's  got  schooling  enough.  I'm  sick 
of  schools,"  he  answered.  "  No,  he  must  find  an 
other  place." 

"  There  are  other  binderies  in  the  city." 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  want  him  to  learn  a  trade.  I'd 
rather  get  him  into  a  store  where  he  can  learn  clerk 
ing  and  business.  I  don't  always  mean  to  stand 
behind  a  bar  and  get  money  selling  liquor  by  the 
glass.  After  I've  laid  up  my  pile  I'm  going  into 
something  bigger." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  113 

"  By  the  gallon,  the  case  and  barrel,"  I  remarked. 

"  Exactly  so,  and  it  will  be  just  the  thing  for  Tom 
to  have  a  good  knowledge  of  business,  to  understand 
trade  and  be  able  to  keep  books." 

I  smiled  to  myself,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  He'll  see  water  run  up  hill  before  that  comes  to 
pass,"  I  said  in  my  thought. 

Tom's  services  in  the  bar  were  dispensed  with 
from  that  time.  But  as  he  had  nothing  to  do,  and 
as  his  father  was  too  much  occupied  in  the  saloon 
day  and  night  to  look  after  him,  he  spent  most  of 
his  time  idly  roaming  about,  and  in  the  company  of 
lads  whose  society  did  him  harm  instead  of  good. 
A  few  feeble  efforts  to  get  him  a  place  in  some  store 
were  made,  but  without  success.  To  one  business 
man  after  another  who  came  in  to  drink  Lloyd 
mentioned  his  son. 

"  He's  a  smart,  likely  lad,"  he  would  say,  "and  the 
making  of  a  first-rate  business-man." 

But  none  of  them  had  an  opening  for  him.  I 
think  I  was  not  mistaken  in  the  reason.  They  did 
not  see  much  hope  for  anything  good  in  a  saloon 
keeper's  son. 

At  last  a  wholesale  dealer  in  wines  and  liquors,  to 
whom  Lloyd  mentioned  his  wish  to  get  a  place  for  his 
son,  said  he  was  in  want  of  a  lad,  and  would  take  him. 

There  was  considerable  opposition  on  the  mother's 
part,  but  Lloyd  said  it  was  a  great  deal  better  than 
to  have  him  running  the  street.     So  he  went  into 
the  store  of  the  liquor-dealer. 
10*  H 


CHAPTER  X. 

SO  many  things  have  crowded  on  my  memory 
since  I  began  to  tell  this  story  of  three  years' 
experience  in  liquor-selling  that  I  have  brought  the 
reader's  mind,  I  fear,  into  some  confusion.  There  is 
so  much  that  I  have  seen  and  heard,  so  many  life- 
tragedies  that  re-enact  themselves  before  me,  so 
much  that  is  like  a  troubled  dream  in  my  conscious 
ness,  so  many  persons  and  incidents  mixed  to 
gether,  that  I  find  it  almost  impossible  to  make  a 
clear  and  coherent  record  of  what  I  wish  to  tell. 

So  the  reader  must  bear  with  me,  and  keep  the 
thread  of  my  story  as  best  he  can.  It  will  not 
run  in  the  channel  at  first  marked  out,  but  keep 
breaking  away  on  this  side  and  on  that,  now  turning 
back  in  dark  caves,  or  leaping  down  sudden  falls,  or 
rushing  into  foamy  rapids,  or  hiding  itself  in  stag 
nant  marshes  amid  things  ugly  and  venomous.  It 
is  an  evil  story,  and  deals  with  evil  things.  A  hun 
dred  times,  up  to  this  point,  have  I  been  on  the  eve 
of  burning  what  I  have  written  and  letting  all  die, 
but  something  I  cannot  resist  impels  me  to  go  on 
and  write  it  out  to  the  end. 

I  move  forward  a  year.  That  first  year !  What  a 
history  it  made !  I  could  not  have  believed  that  in 

114 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  115 

two  men  of  so  little  account  in  the  world  as  we 
were  lay  such  a  marvelous  power  to  do  harm.  I 
have  thought  it  over  many  times  since,  and  won 
dered.  We  were  nothing  of  ourselves — two  obscure 
mechanics,  without  name  or  influence  —  but  the 
moment  we  ranged  ourselves  on  the  side  of  what 
was  hurtful  to  our  fellow-men,  all  hell  seemed  work 
ing  through  us. 

We  had  prospered  in  that  first  year.  If  I  were  to 
tell  how  much  we  made,  it  would  scarcely  be  cred 
ited.  Lloyd  had  removed  his  family  into  a  good- 
sized  house  up  town,  and  furnished  it  handsomely. 
I  had  money  in  bank,  wore  a  diamond  pin,  and  had 
a  gold  watch  for  which  I  paid  two  hundred  dollars, 
but,  on  the  other  side,  there  were  more  than  a  hun 
dred  men,  women  and  children  who  were  poorer 
for  our  prosperity.  I  do  not  care  to  think  of  the 
wives  and  children  who  went  meaner  clad  and  ate 
poorer  food  that  year  in  order  that  I  might  have  a 
gold  watch,  a  diamond  pin  and  a  balance  to  my  ac 
count  in  bank.  It  was  a  sorry  business. 

We  had  many  new  attractions  now  in  our  place, 
for  we  had  spent  several  hundred  dollars  in  mirrors 
and  pictures,  bits  of  statuary  and  other  things  to 
please  the  taste  of  our  customers  and  make  our 
saloon  pleasanter  to  them,  if  possible,  than  their 
homes, 

One  evening,  about  this  time,  as  I  stood  at  my 
post  answering  the  calls  of  customers,  the  larger 
part  of  whom  were  old  fellow-workmen,  I  noticed 


n6  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

young  Harry  Glenn,  the  printer  I  have  mentioned 
before,  come  in.  He  had  been  drinking  rather  freely 
all  day — much  freer  than  usual — and  seemed  to  be 
all  out  of  sorts.  Something  had  evidently  gone 
wrong  with  him.  He  came  up  to  the  bar  and  called 
for  liquor.  I  gave  him  what  he  wanted,  and  he 
drank  in  an  eager  sort  of  way.  For  the  last  three 
or  four  months  Harry  had  been  running  down  fast, 
and  frequently  went  home  at  night  from  "  The  Re 
treat  "  more  drunk  than  sober. 

After  drinking  he  turned  from  the  bar,  and  going 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  sat  down.  He 
looked  worried  and  kept  aloof  from  the  rest. 

"What's  the  trouble  with  Glenn?"  I  asked  of  a 
printer  who  knew  him. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  ?" 

"  No,"  I  replied. 

"  There's  been  a  lively  time  at  his  house." 

"  Indeed  !  what  about  ?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Harry's  been  going  down  hill 
terribly  during  the  last  few  months,  spending  his 
money  in  drink,  neglecting  his  wife  and  running  in 
debt  to  everybody — butcher,  baker,  grocer,  milk 
man,  and  all  the  rest.  I've  talked  to  him  about  it 
several  times,  and  he's  promised  to  let  liquor  alone. 
But:  his  love  for  it  has  grown  too  strong,  and  besides, 
you  made  it  so  much  pleasanter  for  him  to  come 
here  than  to  stay  at  home  with  his  wife  that  he 
couldn't  resist  the  temptation." 

I  was  more  gratified  with   the   compliment  than 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

troubled  about   Harry,  for   I  had  got  over  caring 
much  about  who  went  to  the  dogs. 

"  Mrs.  Glenn  kept  it  all  to  herself,  and  tried  her 
best  to  bring  Harry  round  again.  But  it  was  too 
late.  Prevention  might  have  held  him  safe,  but 
there  was  small  hope  in  the  effort  to  cure.  It  is 
said  that  she  didn't  make  home  as  attractive  as  it 
should  have  been.  He  married  her  for  her  pretty 
face  and  lively  manner,  but  she  had  no  taste  for  do 
mestic  affairs,  and  made  for  her  young  husband,  I 
am  told,  a  sorry  sort  of  a  home." 

I  remembered  having  heard  this  before. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  ran  on  the  speaker,  "  it  all  came 
out  last  night.  Harry  went  home  from  here  as  tipsy  as 
a  fool  and  abused  his  little  wife — beat  her,  they  say 
— and  she  took  her  baby  at  eleven  o'clock  and  went 
home  to  her  father.  I  tell  you  there  was  a  row !  It 
put  the  poor  old  mother  in  bed,  and  set  her  father, 
Mr.  Lawrence — you  know  him — almost  beside  him 
self  with  anger.  Look  !  By  George  !  There's  her 
brother,  Fred  Lawrence,  now." 

I  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes,  and  saw  a 
young  man  apparently  about  twenty-five  just  step 
ping  in  from  the  street  door.  He  had  been  drinking, 
I  could  see. 

His  face  was  pale,  his  lips  closely  set  together, 
his  eyes  intense  and  angry.  He  glanced  quickly 
about.  He  did  not  see  Glenn  at  first,  but  the  instant 
he  caught  sight  of  him  he  drew  a  cowhide  from 
under  his  coat,  and,  springing  across  the  room, 


Ii8  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

brought  it  down  over  his  head  and  shoulders  in 
heavy  blows,  cursing  him  at  every  stroke. 

Glenn  was  not  able  to  recover  himself  from  this 
fierce  assault,  being  more  than  half  intoxicated,  but 
fell  forward  upon  the  floor  in  his  attempt  to  rise 
from  the  chair  in  which  he  was  sitting.  As  he  did 
so  his  assailant  lifted  his  foot  in  a  blind  and  savage 
fury,  and  would  have  kicked  him  in  the  face  if  he 
had  not  been  caught  hold  of  and  dragged  away  by 
two  or  three  men  who  rushed  upon  him  as  soon  as 
they  could  recover  from  the  bewilderment  this  sud 
den  attack  on  Glenn  had  occasioned. 

Struggling,  panting,  swearing,  and  accusing,  in 
broken  and  incoherent  sentences,  the  prostrate  man 
with  outrages  on  his  sister,  Lawrence  vainly  tried 
to  free  himself.  A  policeman  happened  to  be  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  hearing  the  noise,  came  in.  Both 
the  young  men  were  arrested  and  carried  off  to  the 
station-house,  where  they  remained  all  night.  In 
the  morning  they  were  taken  before  an  alderman 
and  required  to  give  bail  for  their  future  good  be 
havior.  A  report  of  the  affair,  omitting  names,  got 
into  the  newspapers.  It  was  as  follows  : 

SAD  AFFAIR. — A  young  man,  respectably  con 
nected,  made  an  assault  last  night,  while  under  the 
influence  of  liquor,  on  his  brother-in-law.  It  took 
place  in  a  drinking-saloon  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Harvey  street.  He  cut  him  over  the  face  with  a 
cowhide,  wounding  one  cheek  severely,  but  was  pre 
vented  from  doing  him  further  injury.  They  were 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  119 

both  lodged  in  the  station-house,  and  this  morning 
each  gave  bail  to  keep  the  peace. 

"  As  far  as  we  were  able  to  learn,  this  case  is  a 
sad  one,  and  stands  as  another  instance  of  the  terri 
ble  demoralization  of  drink.  It  is  not  over  two  years 
since  a  beautiful  girl  in  our  city  became  the  wife  of 
a  steady,  industrious  young  man.  Everything  looked 
bright  before  them.  They  were  fond  of  each  other, 
and  happy.  But  in  an  evil  hour  the  young  man 
commenced  going  to  a  drinking-saloon  for  a  mid 
day  lunch.  He  met  pleasant  people,  the  taste  for 
liquor  grew  upon  him,  evenings  were  dull  sometimes, 
and  so  it  came  about  that  he  drifted  away  from  his 
home  and  fell  into  dissipation.  He  went  down  fast. 
His  story  is  that  of  thousands.  He  neglected  his 
wife,  got  in  debt,  drank  deeper  and  deeper,  and  at 
last,  in  a  drunken  fit,  abused  her  so  badly  that  she 
left  him  and  went  back  to  her  father's  house,  broken 
hearted,  with  her  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  Her  brother,  stung  to  madness  by  his  sister's 
story,  and  made  blind  and  reckless  by  a  glass  of 
liquor,  assaulted  the  poor  debased  husband,  as  we 
have  seen,  and  so  made  all  things  worse.  It  is  a  sad 
story,  and  has  its  moral." 

Glenn  did  not  even  make  an  effort  to  recover  him 
self.  The  disgrace  put  upon  him  by  the  brother  of 
his  wife  seemed  to  break  down  all  the  manliness  left 
in  him.  He  did  not  return  to  the  printing-office,  but 
got  work  somewhere  else.  It  was  a  long  time  ere  I 
saw  him  again. 


J2O  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

One  night,  a  few  months  before  this  occurrence, 
we  had  in  a  jolly  company,  who  were  talking,  sing 
ing,  drinking  and  in  other  ways  enjoying  themselves. 
All  at  once  the  noise  and  merriment  ceased.  A 
woman,  tall  and  slender,  but  closely  veiled,  had 
come  in  silently,  and  now  stood  a  few  steps  from  the 
door,  motionless  as  a  piece  of  marble,  but  evidently 
searching  through  the  room  with  her  keen  glances. 

For  a  few  moments  you  could  have  heard  a  pin 
drop,  the  stillness  was  so  perfect.  There  was  a  spell 
on  every  one,  and  it  was  not  broken  until  the  strange 
figure  turned  slowly  and  passed  out  with  noise 
less  feet. 

"Was  that  a  ghost?"  asked  one  as  the  door 
closed  behind  her. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  queried  another. 

But  no  one  could  tell.  The  veil  was  drawn  so 
closely  that  not  a  feature  was  visible. 

"Somebody's  wife,"  said  old  Jacobs,  who  was 
nearly  always  on  hand. 

"  Does  anybody  here  own  her  ?"  inquired  Lloyd, 
trying  to  make  light  of  the  visitation  and  give  the 
incident  a  humorous  turn. 

"  I  wouldn't  care  to  be  in  his  shoes,"  returned  one 
of  the  company.  "  That  woman  knows  tragedy." 

"And  is  playing  it  now,"  said  Jacobs,  "and  will 
go  on  playing  it  after  the  curtain  falls  and  the  lights 
are  out." 

Our  guests  were  less  noisy  after  that.  There  were 
some  present  who  were  evidently  made  uncomfort- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  121 

able  by  the  incident — some  who  could  not  help 
thinking  of  a  lonely  wife  at  home.  Two  men,  one 
a  handsome,  rather  stylish-looking  person  whose 
name  I  did  not  know,  but  who  dropped  in  occasion 
ally,  went  out  quietly  soon  after. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  knew  her,"  was  re 
marked. 

"  If  they  do,"  spoke  out  Lloyd,  "  I  hope  they'll 
put  a  strait-jacket  on  her.  No  woman  of  deli 
cacy  or  with  any  respect  for  her  husband  would  go 
spying  around  of  nights  in  taverns  and  saloons.  Sup 
pose  she'd  found  him  here.  Would  it  have  helped 
matters  any  to  disgrace  him  in  our  eyes  ?  These 
women  are  the  very  devil." 

No  one  answered  him.  The  fine  hilarity  of  the 
evening  did  not  return.  Our  guests  were  human, 
and  could  not  shake  off  the  influence  of  that  weird- 
looking  visitant. 

A  month  afterward  she  came  in,  veiled,  noiseless 
and  ghost-like.  I  looked  at  her  closely  as  she  stood 
a  little  way  inside  of  the  door,  with  her  eyes,  that 
shone  through  her  veil,  searching  about  the  room. 
I  saw  her  bosom  rise  and  fall  like  one  trying  to  re 
press  strong  feelings. 

Again  the  silence  of  death  was  on  the  company. 
She  stood  a  little  while,  as  on  her  first  visit,  then 
turned  with  what  seemed  a  weary  and  disappointed 
air,  and  vanished  through  the  door. 

"There's  a  little  too  much  of  this!"  exclaimed 
old  Jacobs,  in  a  mock  serious  tone.  "And,  anyhow, 
11 


122  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

it  isn't  in  the  play.  Look  here,  Hiram" — addressing 
me — "  you've  got  to  suppress  that  woman.  She 
mustn't  be  coming  on  the  stage  every  night  after 
this  fashion,  or  else  you  must  put  her  in  the  bill. 
Then  we'll  know  what's  coming,  and  get  our  nerves 
ready." 

A  laugh  greeted  this  sally,  but  it  wasn't  very 
hearty. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  about  it,"  said  another. 

"  Well,  what's  your  guess  ?"  inquired  Jacobs. 

"  She's  after  some  fellow." 

"No  doubt,  and  that  fine  fellow's  her  husband," 
was  replied. 

"  Don't  believe  it.  Didn't  you  notice  one  hand  in 
her  pocket  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  went  round  the  room. 

"  Well,  I  did — noticed  it  both  times." 

"And  what  does  it  signify  if  she  had?" 

"It's  my  guess  that  there  was  a  pistol  in  her 
pocket" 

"  By  George !  I  believe  you've  hit  the  nail  on  the 
head !"  exclaimed  two  or  three  in  a  breath.  "  I've 
seen  women  looking  round  after  their  husbands," 
added  one  of  them,  "  but  never  a  critter  of  her  kind. 
She's  one  on  'em  as  knows  how  that  a  man  isn't 
going  to  be  reformed  by  such  doings.  There's 
a  gay  deceiver  running  round  who'd  better  say  his 
prayers  in  double  quick  when  she  gets  her  eyes  on 
him." 

"  All  afloat,  gentlemen — all  afloat,"  sang  out  Ja- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  123 

cobs,  in  a  high  key.  "  I  know  what  she's  after ;  it's 
just  come  to  me.  She's  going  to  shoot  a  saloon 
keeper.  So  look  out,  Masters  Lloyd  and  Jones." 

This  was  greeted  with  a  laugh  from  the  company, 
and  an  oath  from  Lloyd. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  swear  about  it,"  retorted  the  old 
pressman;  "it  can't  help  the  matter  any.  But  it's 
plain  to  see  that  she's  got  wound  up  for  a  strike,  and 
it's  my  guess,  if  she  finds  somebody  she  knows  here, 
there'll  be  a  dead  rum-seller  to  put  under  ground. 
She'll  be  a  dead  shot.  Them  kind  always  are.  So 
take  my  advice,  Tom  Lloyd,  and  make  your  will." 

Lloyd  became  very  angry  at  this,  and  swore 
fiercely  at  the  old  pressman. 

"  If  you  can't  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head, 
you'd  better  stay  away,"  he  added,  cooling  down  a 
little.  "  I  won't  put  up  with  these  insults  in  my 
own  house." 

"Insults!"  retorted  Jacobs;  "I'd  like  to  know 
where  the  insult  lies  ?  What  did  I  say  to  insult  you, 
ha,  old  chap  ?  Insult !  Bah  !  you're  growing  mighty 
thin-skinned.  But  getting  mad  won't  save  you  when 
she  comes  round,  if  somebody  happens  to  be  here. 
So,  as  I  just  said,  get  your  will  ready." 

"  Women  grow  very  desperate  sometimes,  and  do 
desperate  things,"  remarked  a  person  who  had  been 
silent  until  now.  He  spoke  quietly,  but  soberly. 
"  They  are  made  up  of  passions  and  impulses — are 
soft  as  summer  breezes  when  all  goes  pleasantly 
with  them,  but  fierce  and  reckless  as  the  wildest 


124  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

storm  if  crossed  and  thwarted.  It's  a  dangerous  ex 
periment  to  drive  a  woman  to  the  wall,  to  rob  her  of 
what  is  dearest  in  life,  to  rouse  in  her  the  sleeping 
lion." 

The  man  spoke  in  a  deep,  musical  voice,  and  in  a 
style  of  language  not  often  heard  in  our  saloon.  He 
was  a  stranger  among  us,  and  had  rather  a  seedy 
look.  Every  one  turned  to  him.  He  went  on  : 

"  Home  is  a  woman's  world,  and  its  inmates  her 
most  precious  things.  Her  life  is  bound  up  in  her 
husband  and  children.  If  a  maiden,  and  she  have  a 
lover,  it  is  bound  up  in  him.  Touch  any  of  these, 
and  you  touch  her  life.  Hurt  them,  and  you  hurt 
her.  Some  women  are  weak,  and  some  saintly,  and 
some  are  strong-willed  and  desperate  ;  when  annoyed 
and  threatened,  a  tiger.  The  weak  fall,  the  saintly 
find  strength  in  religion,  but  the  strong-willed  get  a 
new  vitality  when  the  evil  days  come.  You  saw  one 
of  these  latter  just  now.  One  that  she  loves  is,  I 
take  it,  drifting  away  from  her  on  the  river  of  ine 
briation,  else  why  seek  him  here  ?  If  she  lose  him, 
she  loses  all  she  has  in  life.  It  is  a  fearful  thing  for 
her.  She  will  save  him  if  she  can,  and  if  any  one 
stand  in  her  way,  he  must  go  down. 

"  I  don't  think,"  he  continued,  his  tone  softening, 
but  every  word  coming  clear  and  emphatic,  "that 
you  gentlemen" — and  he  looked  at  Lloyd  and  myself 
— "  count  the  cost  of  your  work — really  comprehend 
what  flows  from  it ;  if  you  did,  you  would  be  little 
better  than  devils  incarnate." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  125 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  Tom  Lloyd's  face,  and  I 
felt  like  throwing  a  tumbler.  But  there  was  a  fas 
cination  about  the  speaker's  voice  and  manner  that 
completely  won  our  company,  and  I  saw  with  angry 
annoyance  that  his  hard  thrust  at  us  was  enjoyed. 

"  But  I  know,"  he  went  on,  "  that  you  have  shut 
your  eyes  to  all  this.  It  is  none  of  your  business, 
you  say.  Men  will  drink,  and  you  only  give  them 
what  they  want.  I'm  sorry — sorry  for  you,  sorry  for 
myself  and  sorry  for  every  man  here  who  feels  as  I 
do  the  almost  irrepressible  cravings  of  an  appetite 
grown  too  strong  for  him.  And  if  there  be  any 
among  you  not  over  on  the  wrong  side,  be  warned 
in  time.  Let  this  thing  alone.  Keep  away  from 
places  where  drink  is  sold." 

"Bravo!"  cried  old  Jacobs;  "them's  my  senti 
ments.  Pve  been  preaching  'em  here  from  the  be 
ginning.  I've  told  the  boys  over  and  over  again 
that  it  wasn't  the  thing  to  be  coming  here  night  after 
night.  '  Just  look  at  me,'  I've  said,  '  and  take  warn 
ing.'  But  it  doesn't  seem  to  be  of  any  use.  They 
come  and  come,  and  drink  and  tipple,  and  will  all  go 
to  the  devil,  I'm  afraid,  in  spite  of  everything  I  can 
say." 

All  this,  Lloyd  and  I  were  compelled  to  hear  and 
yet  keep  silence,  for  the  general  feeling  was  for  the 
time  against  us. 

"  It  is  a  bad  business,  take  it  as  you  will,"  said  the 
stranger,  in  a  depressed  voice ;  and  rising,  he  com 
menced  buttoning  his  coat.  He  moved  toward  the 
11* 


126  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

door,  but  hesitated  after  a  few  steps,  and  then  came 
round  to  the  bar  and  called  for  a  glass  of  brandy. 

"  I  preach  and  practice  both,  you  see,"  was  his 
remark  as  he  poured  out  the  brandy.  "  You  mustn't 
be  offended.  I  have  to  talk  sometimes,  but  I  guess 
all  I  say  will  not  do  you  much  hurt — not  half  so 
much,"  he  added  as  he  set  down  his  glass,  his  voice 
changing  and  his  eyes  flashing  a  little,  "  as  you  will 
do  yourselves  in  this  wretched  business.  Curses, 
like  chickens,  always  come  home  to  roost.  Keep 
that  in  mind,  gentlemen.  Good-night;"  and  he  went 
away. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  work  of  a  year  was  very  apparent  even  to 
my  eye,  that  cared  not  to  see.  Of  the  thirty 
or  forty  men  and  boys  in  the  bindery  and  printing 
office  who  patronized  "The  Retreat"— our  fellow 
workmen  against  whom  we  had  conspired — nearly 
every  one  was  worse  off  in  something.  Two  or 
three  once  steady  journeymen,  who  hardly  ever  lost 
a  day,  had  become  idle  bar-room  loungers  for  a  third 
of  their  time.  Among  all  I  noticed  a  steady  in 
crease  from  month  to  month  of  the  daily  number 
of  drinks  and  a  lowering  of  the  standard  of  health. 
Rheumatism  troubled  a  great  many.  Dyspepsia  was 
a  common  complaint.  I  don't  think  any  were  free 
from  some  ailment.  One  was  bilious,  another  had  a 
torpid  liver  and  another's  head  was  out  of  order, 
and  the  worse  they  felt,  the  more  liquor  they  gen 
erally  drank.  It  was  a  common  thing  to  hear  the 
question,  "  How  are  you  to-day  ?"  answered  by, 
"  Only  so-so.  Stiff  with  rheumatism  ;"  or,  "  Miser 
able  ;"  or,  "  Head  terribly  out  of  sorts — no  appetite 
— can't  sleep ;"  or,  "  Nothing  to  brag  of — running 
down  somehow — don't  know  what's  the  matter." 
As  I  recall  in  mind  the  men  who  drank  with  us 

127 


128  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

regularly,  I  am  not  able  to  remember  one  who  was 
in  vigorous  health.     All  were  ailing  in  something. 

Mr.  Ashley,  the  foreman  of  the  bindery,  took  the 
matter  seriously  to  heart,  and  gave  positive  orders 
that  no  liquor  should  be  brought  into  the  establish 
ment,  on  penalty  of  an  instant  dismissal  of  the  of 
fender.  A  great  deal  was  smuggled  in,  however. 
Lloyd's  son  had  been  caught  in  the  act,  as  before 
mentioned,  and  summarily  sent  away.  The  foreman 
saw  the  evil  work  going  on,  the  hurt  and  hindrance 
occasioned  by  the  daily  tippling  and  diminished  pro 
duct  of  his  men,  and  set  himself  at  last  to  the  busi 
ness  of  "  rooting  us  out,"  to  use  his  own  words.  We 
heard  of  it,  for  he  uttered  his  threat  openly. 

"  Let  him  try  it  on,"  was  our  derisive  response  to 
those  who  repeated  his  threat. 

"  He's  bound  to  catch  you  if  it  can  be  done,  for 
Ashley  isn't  a  man  that  does  things  by  halves,"  they 
said. 

"  How  will  he  catch  us  ?"  we  asked.  "  We've  got 
a  license." 

"  There's  a  law  against  selling  to  minors,  and  he's 
going  to  trip  you  there.  So  look  out." 

"  Oh,  is  he  ?  Give  him  our  compliments  and  tell 
him  to  go  ahead." 

There  were  from  eight  to  ten  persons  in  the  estab 
lishment  under  legal  age  who  often  came  in  for  beer. 
If  it  could  be  clearly  proved  in  court  that  we  had 
sold  intoxicating  liquors  to  one  of  these,  there  was 
danger  of  a  fine  and  sixty  days'  imprisonment.  The 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  129 

trouble  would  lie  in  getting  the  evidence,  and  even 
then  the  jury  might  not  agree. 

Forewarned,  we  felt  safe  enough.  It  was  easy  to 
make  a  show  of  not  selling  to  the  boys,  yet  have  an 
understanding  with  them  that  if  they  went  up  stairs, 
where  no  one  could  see  them  receive  the  liquor  or 
drink  it,  they  could  have  all  they  wanted. 

Ashley  dropped  in  upon  us  half  a  dozen  times, 
now  in  the  day  and  now  in  the  evening.  Once  or 
twice  he  found  minors  whom  he  knew  in  the  bar 
room,  but  that  wasn't  enough;  he  must  see  them 
drink.  He  tried  to  get  some  of  the  sober  men  in 
his  employment  to  help  him  by  visiting  our  place 
and  spying  around,  but  none  of  them  cared  to  en 
gage  in  that  sort  of  business.  He  then  tried  the 
constables  of  the  ward,  giving  them  the  names  of 
every  minor  in  the  establishment  and  urging  them 
to  do  their  duty,  but  the  constables  laughed  in  their 
sleeves  and  gave  us  warning  of  our  danger. 

It  all  came  to  nothing.  Ashley,  after  worrying 
himself  for  two  or  three  weeks  to  no  purpose,  gave 
it  up.  He  found  out,  by  that  time,  that  the  law  reg 
ulating  the  sale  of  liquors  had  been  very  carefully 
framed,  and  that,  while  it  appeared  to  be  very  strin 
gent  and  against  us,  had  essential  defects  that  made 
it  little  more  than  a  dead  letter. 

I  believe  he  was  successful  in  getting  the  proof  of 
sale  to  two  minors,  and  consulted  a  lawyer  about 
having  us  arrested  and  tried,  but  the  lawyer  told  him 
that  the  chances  were  all  against  a  conviction ;  that 


130  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

the  liquor-sellers  would  combine  the  moment  one  of 
their  number  was  brought  up  and  spend  any  amount 
of  money  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice;  that  there 
were  shrewd  and  unscrupulous  lawyers,  known  to 
these  men,  who  understood  all  the  ins  and  outs 
of  court  practice,  and  who  could  make  a  case  of  this 
kind  go  almost  any  way  they  pleased. 

"  You'd  better  let  it  alone,"  said  the  lawyer,  in 
conclusion,  "  unless  you  have  a  good  deal  of  money 
to  spend  and  a  good  deal  of  time  on  your  hands.  It 
will  certainly  take  both  of  these  to  make  success 
anything  like  probable,  for  all  these  are  on  the  other 
side." 

I  learned  this  much  from  one  of  the  men,  who 
heard  it  from  Ashley,  and  who  also  heard  him  say 
that  our  saloon  had,  in  a  single  year,  lessened  the 
average  product  of  the  establishment  at  least  ten  per 
cent.  The  aggregate  of  that  was  a  very  heavy  dis 
count  on  the  productive  labor  of  this  one  establish 
ment,  and  could  not  have  been  less  than  from  eight 
to  ten  thousand  dollars. 

The  loss  of  wages  by  the  men  in  consequence  of 
diminished  health,  idleness  and  demoralization  could 
not  have  been  less  than  two-thirds  of  this  sum.  Add 
what  they  spent  for  the  liquor  that  worked  all 
this  loss  and  demoralization,  and  it  is  easy  to  see 
what  lessening  of  personal  and  home  comfort  among 
them  must  follow — what  deprivation,  suffering,  want, 
discouragement  and  sorrow  in  their  families. 

No  wonder  that  Ashley  desired  to  "  root  us  out." 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  131 

But  he  was  not  able.     There  were  cunningly  devised 
laws  on  our  side,  and  we  felt  that  we  were  safe. 

I  have  mentioned  that  among  the  apprentices  in 
the  bindery  were  two  sons  of  widowed  mothers  and 
one  lad,  the  son  of  a  poor  clergyman,  named  Allen. 

I  remember  when  Ned  Allen  came  first  to  the 
bindery.  He  was  a  fresh,  bright,  innocent  boy.  I 
do  not  believe  he  had  ever  been  inside  of  a  tavern 
until  after  we  opened  "  The  Retreat."  Then  it  be 
came  easy  and  natural  for  him  to  drift  in  among  us. 
Our  new  place  was  the  talk  of  the  bindery,  and  our 
tempting  lunches,  varied  from  day  to  day,  had  an  en 
ticement  about  them  strong  to  young  and  keen  ap 
petites.  Ned  came  one  forenoon,  about  a  week  after 
we  opened,  in  company  with  a  journeyman  who  had 
asked  him  to  come  and  get  a  lunch.  The  boy 
looked  shy  and  not  quite  at  ease,  but  he  ate  a  slice 
of  cold  ham  and  a  piece  of  bread  and  drank  a  glass 
of  beer  with  the  relish  a  good  appetite  gives.  The 
journeyman  paid  for  both  drinks.  Then,  after  lin 
gering  and  talking  for  a  little  while,  they  went  out. 

I  did  not  see  him  again  for  several  days.  When 
he  next  came,  it  was  by  himself,  and  at  lunch-time. 
He  was  little  better  at  ease  than  on  the  first  occa 
sion,  and  only  drank  a  part  of  the  beer  I  gave  him 
with  his  lunch.  He  took  a  few  pennies  from  his 
pocket,  and  selecting  five,  paid  for  the  first  glass  of 
beer  he  ever  bought.  It  might  have  been  fancy,  but 
I  thought  his  hand  trembled  a  little  as  he  reached 
me  the  five  small  coins.  His  face  looked  very  sober. 


132  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

It  was  clear  that  he  felt  conscious  of  doing  some 
thing  wrong. 

It  was  a  week  before  the  boy  came  again,  and 
then  it  was  in  company  with  John  Ashley,  who 
treated  him. 

"  Ned  and  I  are  coming  round  to-night,"  said 
John  as  they  were  going  out. 

"  All  right !  Glad  to  see  you,"  Lloyd  answered, 
cheerily.  "  Nice  place  up  stairs  to  meet  the  boys 
and  play  dominoes  or  backgammon." 

Sure  enough,  after  supper  John  and  Ned  came  in. 
John  treated,  as  in  the  morning.  After  lingering 
a  while  in  the  bar-room  among  the  men  they  knew, 
and  listening  to  their  not  very  proper  talk,  the  two 
lads  went  up  stairs,  and  I  did  not  see  them  again. 

"  Isn't  that  Rev.  Mr.  Allen's  son  ?"  inquired  a  man 
who  had  been  looking  pretty  closely  at  Ned. 

Some  one  who  knew  answered  that  it  was. 

He  shook  his  head  gravely,  remarking,  "  I'm  sorry 
to  see  him  here." 

"Why?"  asked  Lloyd.  "Is  he  any  better  than 
John  Ashley?" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  the  man  replied,  "  but  neither  of 
them  has  any  business  here." 

A  retort  was  on  Lloyd's  tongue,  but  I  touched 
him  in  warning,  and  he  kept  silent. 

"  Let  him  have  his  say."  I  spoke  in  an  undertone. 
"  It  doesn't  hurt  anybody." 

Young  Allen  did  not  come  very  often  at  first,  but 
after  some  months  he  became  a  regular  visitor,  and 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  133 

spent  two  or  three  evenings  with  us  every  week,  en 
joying  himself.  He  learned  fast  after  the  change 
began — could  swear  glibly  and  talk  "smutty"  talk 
as  easily  as  the  next  one. 

This  change  in  the  boy  could  not  take  place  with 
out  it  being  noticed  at  home,  and  I  heard,  incident 
ally,  that  his  father  and  mother  were  getting  very 
much  troubled  about  him.  I  had  some  knowledge 
of  his  father — a  g  od  man,  but  not  very  highly  gifted 
as  a  preacher.  He  was  not  in  charge  of  any  church, 
but  was  employed  by  a  religious  society  in  looking 
after  the  spiritual  needs  of  certain  poor  people.  He 
was  a  kind  of  city  missionary,  and  was  kept  by  those 
who  employed  him  as  close  to  starvation  as  was  safe. 
He  was  a  seedy-looking  man,  but  with  a  counte 
nance  so  placid  and  resigned  that  you  felt  he  was 
working  in  his  hard,  thankless  office  from  a  love  of 
doing  good. 

I  had  some  knowledge  of  him,  I  said.  It  was  a 
year  or  two  before,  and  while  I  worked  at  my  trade. 
One  of  our  men  who  was  very  intemperate  and  spent 
half  of  his  wages  in  drink  was  taken  ill,  and  as  he 
had  worn  out  his  constitution,  there  was  little  for 
nature  to  go  and  come  on,  and  so  he  died.  His 
poor  forlorn-looking  wife  called  at  the  bindery  to 
say  that  he  was  very  sick,  and  some  of  us  felt  that 
we  were  called  upon  to  see  after  him.  We  made  up 
a  little  collection,  and  I  took  charge  of  the  sum 
thus  raised. 

I  found  everything  poor  and  wretched  enough. 
12 


134  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

The  man  lived  with  his  wife  and  three  helpless  chil 
dren  in  two  rooms  on  the  second  floor  of  a  miserable 
house  in  a  narrow,  dirty  street.  There  was  little  fur 
niture  in  the  rooms.  The  sick  man  lay  on  a  hard 
straw  bed.  His  children,  half  clad  and  with  pinched 
faces,  looked  at  me  hungrily  out  of  their  large 
eyes. 

It  made  me  sick.  I  gave  them  what  money  I  had 
brought,  and  promising  to  come  again  in  a  day  or 
two,  got  off  as  quickly  as  I  could. 

At  the  door  I  met  the  pale,  tender,  wasted  face  of 
Mr.  Allen  the  preacher. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Hollis  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  sweet,  earn 
est  voice  that  was  full  of  interest  for  the  sick  man 
he  had  called  to  visit. 

"  In  rather  a  bad  way,"  I  replied. 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  I  returned.  "We  have  worked  together 
for  a  year  or  two." 

"  Oh  !  Then  I  hope  his  fellow-workmen  will  look 
to  it  that  his  poor  wife  and  children  don't  suffer  while 
he  is  sick." 

"  I  have  just  left  them  some  money,"  I  answered. 
"  We  will  see  that  they  don't  want  for  anything." 

"  Oh,  that  is  right.  I  am  so  glad  of  it,"  he  said, 
with  as  much  pleasure  in  his  voice  as  if  a  favor  had 
been  done  to  himself. 

I  met  him  two  or  three  times  afterward  on  my 
visits  to  the  sick  journeyman,  and  was  more  and  more 
impressed  with  the  simple  beauty  of  his  character 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  135 

and  the  unselfishness  of  his  devotion  to  the  poor  and 
suffering. 

"  This  is  thankless  work  for  you,  sir,"  I  remem 
ber  having  said  to  him  at  one  of  our  meetings,  and 
I  didn't  soon  forget  his  reply,  nor  the  look  and  tone 
with  which  it  was  given.  My  first  thought  when  he 
began  to  speak  was  of  cant.  But  it  did  not  linger 
an  instant  in  my  mind.  I  felt  that  he  was  sincere. 

"  If  I  looked  for  thanks  or  gain,  my  friend,  I  would 
look  somewhere  else.  I  am  only  God's  servant, 
trying  to  do  his  will.  He  went  about  doing  good 
while  upon  earth,  and  I  am  trying  humbly  to  walk 
in  his  footsteps.  That  is  all,  my  friend.  And  I  have 
my  reward." 

A  faint  smile,  but  very  sweet  and  tender,  broke  into 
his  wasted  face. 

"  But,  oh  dear !"  he  added,  and  a  shadow  of  pain 
swept  across  his  countenance.  "  If  men  would  not 
give  themselves  to  this  dreadful  work  of  destroying 
souls  and  bodies  just  for  gain !  It  is  drink,  drink, 
drink,  that  makes  nearly  all  of  this  suffering  and 
poverty  and  crime  that  I  have  to  meet  and  minister 
to,  help  and  hinder,  every  day.  It  is  drink  that  has 
impoverished  this  poor  workman's  family  and  made 
the  father's  death  almost  certain.  It  is  drink  that  is 
cursing  the  poor.  A  deep  and  bitter  cry  has  gone 
up,  and  still  goes  up,  but  the  cry  is  yet  in  vain. 
God  help  the  poor  women  and  children,  for  there 
seems  to  be  none  in  man !" 

He  was  strongly  agitated  now.     The  great  con 


136  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

cern  he  evidently  felt  for  the  poor  and  wretched 
among  whom  he  labored  seemed  to  shake  his  very 
soul.  The  beaded  sweat  stood  on  his  pale,  pure  fore 
head,  and  for  a  little  while  he  trembled. 

But  he  grew  calm  in  a  few  moments,  saying, 

"  We  must  work  and  be  patient,  my  friend.  God 
has  his  own  good  time,  and  he  will  bring  it  to  pass. 
'  I  have  seen  the  wicked  in  great  power,  and  spread 
ing  himself  like  a  green  bay  tree.  Yet  he  passed 
away,  and,  lo,  he  was  not.  I  sought  him,  but  he 
could  not  be  found.'  God  is  good  and  wise  and 
strong,  and  his  judgment  sure.  He  will  recom 
pense  evil." 

I  saw  him  again,  after  our  fellow-workman  died, 
trying  as  best  he  could  to  comfort  the  stricken  ones 
who  had  been  left  in  utter  destitution,  and  once  again 
when  he  came  to  the  bindery  to  solicit  help  for  the 
widow  and  orphans.  And  this  was  the  man  whose 
only  son  we  were  corrupting  and  depraving ! 

Very  fast  the  evil  work  went  on.  Before  the  year 
was  out,  Ned  Allen  had  fallen  far  away  from  the 
pure  life  he  had  known  at  the  beginning.  At  first 
he  had  very  little  money,  and  oftener  drank  his  glass 
of  beer  at  another's  expense.  John  Ashley  and  he 
were  very  thick,  and  the  former  nearly  always  stood 
treat  when  they  came  to  the  bar  together.  But  after 
a  few  months  Ned  had  more  pocket-money,  and 
spent,  to  my  knowledge,  in  drinking,  theatre-going 
and  in  other  ways,  not  less  than  three  or  four  dollars 
a  week.  I  wondered  to  myself  sometimes  where  it 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  137 

all  came  from,  but  then  it  was  none  of  my  business, 
and  I  didn't  trouble  my  head  about  it. 

We  kept  open  on  Sundays,  of  course ;  these  were 
among  our  best  days.  There  was  a  law  against  sell 
ing  liquor  on  that  day,  but  it  was  as  much  a  dead 
letter  as  the  law  against  selling  to  minors,  or  to 
persons  known  as  common  drunkards.  There  must 
be  proof  of  the  selling  and  drinking,  and,  as  things 
were,  this  was  not  so  easily  done  as  might  be 
thought.  At  any  rate,  there  were  from  five  to  seven 
thousand  places  for  selling  liquor  open  every  Sun 
day,  and  no  one  was  called  to  account.  The  law  lay 
dead  upon  the  statute-book. 

Among  our  Sunday  visitors  we  were  pretty  sure 
to  have  some  of  the  boys.  Ned  got  to  coming 
in  about  church-time  and  staying  until  service  was 
over,  when  he  would  go  home,  and  pretend  that  he 
had  been  to  church.  4 

The  first  time  he  came,  one  of  our  regular  Sunday 
drinkers,  who  knew  him  and  his  father's  calling,  said, 
half  in  surprise  and  half  in  reproof, 

"  What  brings  you  here,  Ned  Allen  ?  " 

"  Came  to  Sunday-school,"  answered  the  boy, 
promptly,  giving  his  questioner  a  knowing  wink. 

At  this,  a  loud  laugh  went  through  the  bar-room. 

"  He'll  do,"  said  one. 

"  Didn't  take  him  long  to  graduate,"  added 
another. 

"  Go  it  while  you're  young,  Ned,"  put  in  a  third, 
slapping  the  boy  on  the  shoulder  as  he  spoke. 
12* 


138  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Ned  looked  pleased  at  these  compliments,  and 
then  said,  nodding  toward  the  door  leading  into  the 
entry, 

"  Has  the  class  begun  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lloyd.  "The  boys  are  in  their 
places,  and  only  waiting  for  their  teacher." 

"  All  right :  he's  on  hand ;"  and  he  went  up 
stairs  to  join  young  Ashley  and  three  or  four  others 
who  had  already  come  in. 

After  that,  scarcely  a  Sunday  went  over  that  Ned 
Allen  did  not  visit  us,  sometimes  spending  hours  in 
playing  at  cards,  bagatelle  or  some  other  game,  and 
drinking  a  glass  or  two  of  beer.  He  was  always 
careful  to  go  home  just  about  the  time  church  was 
out,  and  in  this  way  managed  to  deceive  his  mother. 
His  father  had  missionary  work  to  do  on  Sundays 
that  usually  kept  him  away  from  home  all  day. 

So  it  went  on  for  a  good  while,  Ned  running  his 
downward  course  with  unusual  rapidity.  He  always 
seemed  to  have  a  good  supply  of  money,  at  which 
I  wondered. 

One  afternoon,  near  the  close  of  our  first  year,  I 
sat  reading  a  newspaper,  no  customers  being  in. 
Hearing  the  door  open,  I  looked  up  and  saw  Ned 
Allen.  His  face  was  pale,  and  he  had  a  scared  look 
in  his  eyes. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"  I  feel  kind  of  sick,  Hiram,"  he  answered,  in  a 
low,  mumbling  voice.  "  I'm  going  up  stairs  to  lie 
down  on  the  settee." 


Tlircc  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  139 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  it.  Hadn't  you  better  take  a 
little  whisky  or  gin  first?"  I  said.  "It  may  make 
you  feel  better." 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I'd  rather  not.  I'll  just  go  up 
and  lie  down." 

"Very  well,  and  if  you  want  anything  ring  the 
bell." 

So  he  went  up  stairs,  walking  so  silently  that  I 
scarcely  heard  the  sound  of  his  feet.  I  felt  that 
there  was  something  more  than  bodily  sickness  the 
matter. 

After  a  while  a  man  came  in  from  the  bindery, 
and  as  he  stood  drinking,  said, 

"  Bad  business  in  there." 

"What?"  I  asked. 

"  They've  caught  Ned  Allen  stealing." 

"  Oh  no  !     That  can't  be,"  I  returned. 

"  Fact !  Ashley  has  suspected  it  for  some  time, 
but  the  young  rascal  was  cunning  as  a  fox,  and  kept 
him  off  the  scent.  It  all  came  out  to-day — the  proof 
so  plain  that  there's  no  getting  over  it.  Mr.  Ashley 
has  sent  for  his  father." 

"  Where  is  Ned  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Mr.  Ashley  sent  him  home,  I  believe ;  for  his 
father's  sake,  he  won't  let  the  matter  come  into 
court.  Poor  old  man !  It  will  go  very  hard  with 
him.  And  he's  such  a  good  man,  and  so  kind  to 
the  poor." 

I  had  it  on  my  tongue  to  say,  "  The  young  vil 
lain  !"  but  could  not  get  out  the  words,  for  the 


140  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

feeling  came  strong  upon  me  that  I  had  helped  to 
make  the  wretched  boy  what  he  was. 

"  He's  up  stairs,"  I  said. 

"  He  is  ?     What  is  he  doing  there  ?" 

"  He  came  in  a  short  time  ago,  saying  that  he  was 
sick  and  would  like  to  lie  down." 

"  Sick  !  I  should  think  he  would  be  !"  returned 
the  man.  "  He'd  better  hang  himself  and  be  done 
with  it." 

I  went  up  stairs  half  an  hour  afterward  to  see  what 
had  become  of  young  Allen,  and  found  him  lying 
face  down  upon  a  settee  in  one  of  the  rooms.  He 
lifted  his  head,  turning  it  partly  around  as  I  opened 
the  door.  His  face  was  still  pale,  and  his  eyes  had 
the  same  scared  look  I  had  noticed  when  he  came  in. 
He  did  not  speak,  but  looked  at  me  anxiously. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  this  about  you,"  I  said,  not 
harshly,  but  with  something  of  pity  in  my  voice. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  turned  his  face  downward 
again,  hiding  it  from  me.  I  stood  looking  at  him 
for  a  few  moments,  utterly  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  and 
then  went  back  to  the  bar-room. 

Ned  remained  up  stairs  until  toward  evening.  At 
six  o'clock  work  ceased,  and  the  men  called  in  larger 
numbers  than  usual  to  get  a  drink  before  going  home. 
Old  Jacobs  the  pressman  was  among  the  first.  The 
talk  was  all  about  young  Allen.  In  the  midst  of  it 
there  came  a  hush,  and  I  heard  a  person  standing 
close  to  the  bar  say  in  a  suppressed  voice, 

"  As  I  live,  there's  his  father !" 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  141 

It  seemed  as  if  I  had  been  struck.  There  was  not 
a  man,  dead  or  alive,  that  I  wouldn't  rather  have 
seen  than  Mr.  Allen. 

I  looked,  and  there  he  was,  a  step  or  two  inside 
of  the  bar-room.  Mr.  Ashley  was  with  him.  It  was 
nearly  two  years  since  I  last  saw  the  pure  but  wasted 
countenance  of  this  good  old  man.  The  sweetness 
and  tenderness,  the  patience  and  submission,  I  had 
marked  before  as  something  beautiful  and  touching, 
were  all  gone  now.  There  was  a  look  of  suppressed 
anguish  in  his  white  face — white  almost  as  his  hair 
— that  seemed  to  hurt  my  eyes  as  they  rested  upon 
it.  He  came  up  to  where  I  stood  behind  the  bar, 
and  said,  huskily — how  clear  and  sweet  his  voice  was 
the  last  time  it  fell  on  my  ears  ! — 

"  Is  there  a  lad  here  named  Edward  Allen  ?" 

"  You  will  find  him  up  stairs,"  I  replied,  turning 
my  face  partly  away,  lest  he  should  recognize  me. 
But  there  was  not  much  danger  of  that. 

"Which  way?"  he  asked. 

I  came  from  behind  the  bar,  and  led  the  way  for 
Ned's  father  and  Mr.  Ashley  up  to  the  room  where 
the  unhappy  boy  still  lay  on  his  face  in  a  kind  of 
dumb  despair.  Mr.  Allen  went  over  to  the  settee, 
and  bending  above  him,  said,  in  a  voice  strangely 
calm,  but  oh,  so  full  of  tenderness  and  pity, 

"  My  son !" 

I  saw  a  start  and  quiver  in  the  prostrate  boy. 
That  was  all. 

The  father  then  knelt  down,  and  clasping  his  thin 


142  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

hands  tightly  together,  turned  upward  his  pale  face 
and  eyes  wet  with  tears. 

"  O  Lord !"  he  said,  hushing  his  voice  to  keep  it 
steady,  yet  not  able  to  repress  the  heartache  that 
was  killing  him — "  O  Lord  !  have  mercy  on  my  poor 
boy !" 

No  further  word  could  he  say.  There  was  a  mo 
ment  or  two  of  silence,  and  then,  with  a  sob  and  cry 
of  anguish,  he  fell  forward  upon  his  son. 

"Oh,  father!  Don't!  Don't!  I  can't  bear  it! 
Oh,  I  wish  I  was  dead!"  cried  the  poor  boy,  in  a 
wild,  helpless  way,  as  he  endeavored  to  get  up.  But 
his  father  lay  heavy  upon  him. 

"Father!  Dear  father!  Oh,  I've  killed  my 
father !"  and  Ned  struggled  up. 

Mr.  Allen  was  still  on  his  knees,  bowed  over  on 
the  settee.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  all  strength. 

"  Father !  Oh,  father !"  the  boy  cried  again,  and 
then  I  saw  him  get  his  arms  about  his  father's  neck 
and  lay  his  pale  face  down  softly  on  the  white 
head  bowed  so  low.  "  Dear  father !  dear  father !"  he 
sobbed. 

Tears  were  running  down  Mr.  Ashley's  face,  and 
my  eyes  were  dim. 

I  began  to  be  alarmed  for  Mr.  Allen,  as  he  did 
not  stir,  nor  in  any  way  respond  to  his  son's  sorrow 
ful  appeals.  But  in  a  little  while  I  saw  him  slowly 
lift  his  bowed  head,  yet  not  rise  from  his  knees.  As 
Ned's  arm  fell  away  from  his  father's  neck,  the 
father's  arm  was  drawn  about  him.  Then  they  knelt 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  143 

side  by  side,  and  were  very  still  for  a  few  moments, 
after  which  Mr.  Allen  again  clasped  his  hands  to 
gether  in  prayer,  lifting  his  face  upward. 

Again  he  said,  "  O  Lord  !  have  mercy  on  my  poor 
boy !  Pity  him,  and  cause  him  to  repent  and  turn 
away  from  sin.  I  have  tried  to  nurture  him  for 
thee,  but  the  devices  of  the  wicked  have  been  too 
strong.  They  have  snared  him  and  brought  his 
soul  into  great  peril.  I  am  weak  and  broken  and 
helpless,  but  in  thee,  O  Lord !  is  strength,  and  in  thee 
is  forgiveness." 

Then  he  got  up,  and  taking  his  boy  by  the  hand, 
went  out  with  him,  Mr.  Ashley  going  at  the  same 
time. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ON  returning  to  the  bar-room  I  was  beset  with 
inquiries  as  to  what  had  happened  up  stairs. 
I  would  rather  have  kept  it  all  to  myself,  but  this 
could  not  well  be,  so  I  told  just  what  had  taken 
place. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  the  ruin  of  that  boy  on  my  con 
science  for  all  the  world,"  said  one  of  the  men  who 
had  come  in  from  the  bindery.  He  spoke  with 
much  feeling. 

"  If  he  hadn't  been  a  thief  at  heart,  he  wouldn't 
have  stolen,"  retorted  Lloyd,  who  felt  that  the  re 
mark  was  aimed  at  us. 

"  Let  him  that  is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone," 
answered  the  other,  with  much  bitterness  of  tone, 
and  he  looked  steadily  at  Lloyd. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  demanded  Lloyd, 
a  flash  in  his  eyes. 

"  There  are  many  ways  of  stealing  besides  taking 
a  man's  goods  or  putting  your  hand  in  his  pocket," 
was  replied  with  a  calm  impressiveness  that  gave 
force  to  the  speaker's  words.  "  If  you  deliberately 
corrupt  and  deprave  a  man,  in  order  that  you  may 
get  his  money,  by  what  name,  I  pray,  do  you  call 
the  act?  Is  it  a  fair  and  honorable  and  honest 

144 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  145 

deed?  That  poor  boy,  I  take  it,  was  no  more  a 
thief  at  heart  than  you  or  I  when  he  first  began 
coming  to  this  place." 

"  I  guess  you're  right  there,"  came  in  old  Jacobs, 
who  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  have  his  say. 

"  He  deserves  our  pity  more  than  our  execration," 
continued  the  other.  "  We  should  consider  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  case." 

"  Gammon  !"  retorted  Lloyd.  "As  if  a  few  glasses 
of  beer  were  going  to  make  a  thief  out  of  an  honest 
person!  You  must  all  feel  very  much  compli 
mented." 

"  You  can't  turn  it  off  in  that  way,"  said  Jacobs, 
driving  up  against  Lloyd,  as  he  always  did  when  a 
chance  offered.  "  When  Ned  Allen  came  here  first, 
he  was  as  nice  a  boy  as  you  could  find  in  a  hundred : 
I  know  that.  But  beer  and  bad  talk  hurt  him  in 
body  and  mind,  and  beer  and  games,  the  theatre, 
and  maybe  worse  places,  couldn't  be  enjoyed  with 
out  money.  The  boy  was  not  strong  enough  to 
swim  against  the  stream  on  which  he  was  floating, 
and  so  went  down  with  the  current.  It  is  sad 
enough  and  bad  enough.  I  am  not  trying  to  excuse 
him,  but  don't  let  all  the  blame  and  all  the  curses 
fall  on  his  poor  head.  There  are  a  good  many  dol 
lars  of  the  money  he  took  from  his  employers  in 
your  till,  and  you  can't  make  it  out  any  other  way." 

I  shut  my  teeth  hard  and  kept  silent.  Lloyd 
boiled  over  and  swore  roundly  at  Jacobs,  but  it 
wasn't  of  any  use.  The  old  pressman  had  the  sym- 

13  K 


146  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

pathy  as  well  as  the  convictions  of  nearly  all  on  his 
side.  What  he  said  had  the  effect  of  softening  every 
one  toward  Ned  Allen  and  turning  harshness  into 
pity. 

"  If  I  was  his  father,"  was  remarked  on  that  same 
evening,  but  later — the  men  from  the  bindery  and 
printing-office  could  not  get  done  talking  about  the 
affair — "  I'd  send  him  to  the  house  of  refuge  at 
once.  It's  the  only  way  to  save  him." 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?"  asked  one  of  two 
well-dressed  men  who  had  come  in  a  few  minutes 
before  and  were  standing  at  the  bar. 

"  Of  a  boy  in  's  bindery  who  was  caught 

stealing  to-day,"  was  answered.  , 

"  Did  you  say  his  name  was  Allen  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir— Ned  Allen.  He's  the  son  of  Rev.  Mr. 
Allen,  more's  the  pity." 

The  man  started,  a  look  of  surprise  and  pain  set 
tling  over  his  face. 

"  Oh,  that  can't  be,  surely !"  he  said. 

"  It's  too  true,  sir.  The  thing's  been  going  on  for 
some  time,  and  to-day  it  all  came  out.  They'll 
probably  hush  it  up  for  his  father's  sake.  But  that 
won't  save  the  poor  boy  from  ruin,  I'm  afraid." 

The  man  then  asked  a  great  many  questions,  and 
drew  out  the  whole  story,  which  was  related  even  to 
the  scene  that  had  occurred  up  stairs  between  Ned 
and  his  father.  He  seemed  very  much  concerned 
about  it,  and  he  and  the  friend  who  was  with  him 
talked  the  matter  over  together  for  a  good  while. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  147 

Once  I  heard  him  say,  with  a  great  deal  of  earnest 
ness, 

"  I'll  do  it  for  his  father's  sake,  if  for  nothing  else. 
Dear,  good  old  man !  My  heart  aches  for  him." 

"  When  a  boy  gets  so  far  gone  as  that,  there  isn't 
much  hope  for  him,"  the  other  replied.  "  And  then 
it's  a  great  risk  to  take  a  person  whom  you  know  to 
be  dishonest." 

"  I'd  rather  run  the  risk  of  losing  a  few  dollars 
than  see  him  go  to  destruction  without  an  effort 
being  made  to  save  him,"  was  the  firm  answer. 
"  Poor  old  Mr.  Allen  !" 

Then  the  two  men  went  out  together.  One  was 
a  merchant,  and  the  other  was  agent  for  an  eastern 
insurance  company  doing  a  large  business  in  the 
city.  It  was  the  latter  who  had  expressed  so  deep 
an  interest  in  Mr.  Allen's  son. 

Mr.  Ashley  was  very  much  excited  over  the  mat 
ter,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  go  before  the  grand 
jury  and  try  to  get  us  indicted  for  something  or 
other.  But  he  was  not  able  to  put  them  in  posses 
sion  of  any  facts  sufficiently  well  authenticated  to 
warrant  their  finding  a  bill  against  us. 

One  morning,  about  a  week  after  the  occurrence 
just  related,  I  was  reading  a  newspaper,  when  I 
came  upon  the  following: 

"  A  GOOD  MAN  GONE  TO  HIS  REWARD. — In  the  rec 
ord  of  deaths  this  morning  will  be  found  that  of  the 
Rev.  Edward  Allen,  who  died  yesterday.  The  poor 
and  humble,  among  whom  he  has  worked  for  so 


148  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

many  years,  will  sadly  miss  his  gentle  face,  his  ten 
der  voice  and  loving  ministrations.  Death  will  be 
his  gain,  but  their  irreparable  loss.  Like  the  Master 
in  whose  footsteps  he  walked,  he  went  about  doing 
good.  Peace  to  his  memory !  It  will  be  precious 
to  hundreds." 

I  then  turned  to  the  list  of  deaths  and  read, 

"  On  the  fourth  instant,  after  a  brief  illness,  Rev. 
Edward  Allen,  in  his  sixty-third  year." 

And  just  below, 

"  On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  instant,  Jane  Allen, 
wife  of  Rev.  Edward  Allen,  in  her  fifty-eighth  year. 

"  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep." 

For  some  minutes  I  seemed  to  be  in  a  kind  of 
maze. 

"  Dead !  That  good  old  man  dead  !"  I  said  this 
in  my  thoughts,  and  kept  on  repeating  it  over  and 
over.  "  It  can't  be  possible  !"  I  answered  back,  and 
lifting  the  paper,  read  again.  I  did  not  speak  of  it 
to  any  one,  and  tried  to  banish  it  from  my  mind,  but 
that  was  not  to  be  done. 

I  missed  from  the  bar-room,  after  this  trouble  with 
Ned  Allen,  several  familiar  faces.  Among  them  was 
that  of  John  Ashley.  Most  of  the  boys  had  kept 
away,  at  which  -I  was  better  pleased  than  otherwise. 
We  got  considerable  out  of  them  one  week  with  an 
other,  but  there  was  a  law  against  selling  to  minors, 
and  here  was  about  our  only  danger  of  getting  trip 
ped.  Besides,  Ned  Allen's  fall  had  caused  a  great 
deal  of  talking  among  the  men,  and  one  or  two  of 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  149 

them  more  than  hinted  that  if  we  did  not  stop  sell 
ing  liquor  to  the  lads  complaint  would  be  made. 

On  the  evening  after  a  notice  of  the  death  of  Mr. 
Allen  and  his  wife  appeared  in  the  newspapers,  we 
had  in  an  unusual  number  of  workmen  from  the 
bindery  and  printing-office.  They  came  to  talk 
about  the  matter,  and  to  learn  what  they  could 
about  it  from  each  other.  It  had  caused,  I  found,  a 
good  deal  of  stir.  Putting  this  and  that  together  as 
it  came  out,  I  learned  that  when  Mr.  Allen  got  home 
with  his  son,  and  the  mother  came  to  know  of  their 
sorrow  and  disgrace,  the  poor  old  lady  was  stricken 
down  as  if  dead,  and  did  not  come  to  for  a  long  time. 
Adding  the  shock  and  alarm  of  this  to  the  crushing 
weight  under  which  he  was  trying  to  hold  himself 
up  was  too  much  for  the  heart-broken  father  to  bear, 
and  nature  kindly  gave  him  ease  in  unconscious 
ness. 

Out  of  this  he  came  at  length,  but  in  mind  and 
body  so  weak  that  he  seemed  almost  gone.  He  ral 
lied  but  little— never  sufficient  to  leave  his  bed.  So 
he  lingered  on  for  a  week.  His  wife  came  up  better. 
Anxiety  for  her  husband  caused  her  strength  to  re 
turn,  and  she  kept  about  him  night  and  day,  doing 
all  in  her  power  to  save  him.  But  in  vain.  Body, 
heart  and  brain  had  all  been  overworked  too  long, 
and  there  was  not  enough  vitality  left  to  meet  the 
sudden  and  large  demand  this  terrible  shock  had 
occasioned.  And  so  he  passed  to  his  rest.  It  was 
said  that  up  to  the  moment  of  his  death  his  wife 

13* 


150  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

showed  no  signs  of  breaking  down,  but  that  when 
all  was  over,  and  friends  tried  to  lift  her  face  away 
from  the  dead  face  of  her  husband,  her  life  seemed 
to  be  going  out  with  his.  She  never  spoke  to  any 
one  afterward,  nor  seemed  to  hear  any  voice  that 
called  to  her,  but  was  like  one  heavy  with  sleep.  In 
a  few  hours  her  pulses  too  were  still  and  her  heart 
cold. 

My  thoughts  troubled  me  that  night.  A  heavy 
weight  lay  on  my  feelings  which  I  tried  vainly  to 
shake  off.  Was  I  not  guilty  of  the  death  of  this  good 
old  man  ?  The  anguish  of  spirit,  too  bitter  for  human 
strength  to  bear,  that  had  occasioned  it,  I  helped  to 
lay  on  his  stooping  and  overburdened  shoulders. 
And  the  unhappy  boy  I  had  assisted  to  snare  and 
ruin,  what  was  to  become  of  him  ?  what  was  to  be 
his  fate  ? 

I  tossed  through  the  night,  haunted  by  thoughts 
like  these,  unable  to  sleep  and  longing  for  the  day 
to  come.  But  with  the  day  I  went  back  to  my 
work,  and  pushed  them  all  aside.  What  had  I  to 
do  with  consequences?  If  men  or  boys  chose  to 
drink,  steal,  rob  or  commit  murder,  that  was  their 
own  affair,  not  mine,  and  they  must  reap  as  they 
sowed.  I  was  sorry  if  any  one  suffered,  but  the 
blame  was  with  him  alone. 

For  a  while  after  this  things  went  on  in  the  usual 
way,  and  the  death  of  Mr.  Allen  became  an  incident 
of  the  past,  and  was  rarely  mentioned.  No  one 
seemed  to  know  anything  about  Ned  Allen,  but  it 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  151 

was  a  common  impression  that  he  would  come  to  no 
good.  John  Ashley  and  other  minors  from  the 
establishment  next  door  drifted  back  among  us  and 
enjoyed  themselves  as  before. 

But  in  the  nature  of  things,  we  could  not  be  long 
at  peace.  Affairs  would  not  run  smoothly.  An 
element  of  discord  was  continually  showing  itself, 
fretting  and  disturbing  us.  We  were  making  money, 
but  not  really  enjoying  our  gains.  It  was  a  rare 
thing  for  me  to  lie  down  at  night  with  a  tranquil 
mind  and  peaceful  thoughts.  Scarcely  a  day  went 
by  without  some  unpleasant  incident.  Now  it  would 
be  an  angry  dispute  among  two  half-tipsy  custom 
ers  ;  now  a  bar-room  row,  with  a  show  of  knives  or 
pistols,  and  sometimes  their  use ;  now  the  appear 
ance  of  a  father  in  search  of  his  son,  or  of  a  poor 
forlorn-looking  mother  after  her  wandering  boy ;  and 
now  the  irritating  ordeal  of  being  compelled  to  listen 
to  a  general  discussion  about  the  character  of  our 
business  and  the  evil  we  were  doing.  Hundreds  of 
times  have  I  wished  myself  well  out  of  it. 

Several  months  had  passed  since  our  last  visit 
from  the  strange  woman  closely  veiled  who  had 
come  in  with  the  silent  step  and  movement  of  a 
ghost,  and  then,  after  glancing  through  the  bar 
room,  as  silently  retired,  and  we  did  not  expect  to 
see  her  again.  But  one  night — it  was  nearly  eleven 

o'clock — as  a  gentleman  named  L ,  well  known 

in  the  city  and  eminent  in  his  profession,  stood  at 
the  bar  drinking,  I  saw  her  enter.     The  gentleman's 


152  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

back  was  turned  toward  the  door,  and  he  did  not 
notice  her.  She  was  closely  veiled,  as  before.  Her 
dress  was  of  some  dark  but  fine  material,  and  fell  in 
graceful  folds  about  her  tall  figure.  A  rich,  dark 
shawl  was  drawn  closely  around  her  shoulders,  and 
I  saw  the  sparkle  of  a  brilliant  solitaire  on  one  of 
her  ungloved  hands.  Her  other  was  thrust  into  the 
pocket  of  her  dress.  She  stood  for  a  moment  or 
two  in  that  statue-like  way  before  mentioned,  and 
then  came  swiftly  but  silently  across  the  room,  and 
laid  a  hand  on  the  gentleman's  arm,  at  the  same  time 
drawing  back  a  portion  of  her  veil,  so  that  on  turn 
ing,  as  he  did  quickly,  he  could  see  her  face. 

I  saw  it  first,  of  course.  It  was  the  face  of  a  wo 
man  past  thirty — a  face  strongly  marked,  but  beau 
tiful,  the  complexion  a  light  brunette  and  the  eyes 
large,  black  and  brilliant.  Every  look  and  flash  of 
her  great  eyes  showed  intense  but  repressed  passion. 

Mr.  L ,  on  feeling  the  touch  on  his  arm,  turned 

with  a  start.  As  he  did  so,  I  saw  the  hand  of  the 
woman  that  still  rested  in  the  pocket  of  her  dress 
move  as  if  about  to  be  withdrawn.  For  an  instant 
they  looked  at  each  other,  while  I  stood  scared  and 
breathless,  for  I  had  seen  murder  in  the  woman's  eyes. 

But  only  for  an  instant  did  she  look  at  Mr.  L . 

I  saw  her  catch  her  breath,  while  a  baffled  and  dis 
appointed  expression  swept  over  her  face.  Then 
with  a  swift  movement  her  veil  was  drawn,  and  be 
fore  the  astonished  Mr.  L could  utter  a  word 

she  had  vanished  from  the  room. 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  153 

"  Do  you  know  that  woman  ?"  he  asked,  in  un 
feigned  astonishment,  and  with  considerable  excite 
ment  of  manner. 

"  I  do  not,"  I  replied. 

"  Has  she  been  here  before  ?" 

"  Two  or  three  times,  but  not  for  several  months 
until  to-night." 

"  What  does  she  want  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  This  is  the  first  time  she  has 
seemed  to  recognize  any  one." 

"  Indeed !" 

"  Yes.  When  she  came  in  before,  she  merely  took 
a  glance  through  the  bar-room,  keeping  her  veil 
down,  and  then  went  out  quietly.  Some  called  her 
a  ghost,  her  movements  were  so  gliding  and  noise 
less.  I  never  saw  her  face  before  to-night" 

"  And  you  have  no  idea  who  she  is  ?" 

"  None  in  the  world,"  I  answered.  "  But  let  her 
be  whom  she  may,  she  has  deadly  designs  on  some 
body,  and  it's  my  guess  that  you  made  a  narrow  es 
cape  just  now." 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it.  Each  time  she's  been  here  it  has 
been  noticed  that  she  kept  one  hand  in  her  pocket, 
and  to-night  I  saw  her  move  that  hand  as  you  turned 
in  a  way  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  She  certainly 
held  a  pistol  or  dagger,  and  when  she  came  spring 
ing  across  the  room  with  the  eager  motions  of  a 
wild  animal,  I  believe  it  was  in  her  heart  to  kill 
you." 


154  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap, 

I  saw  him  shudder. 

"  Why  did  she  not  do  it  ?"  he  asked,  after  a  few 
moments.  And  he  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  Because,"  I  said,  "  you  were  not  her  man." 

"  Humph  !  Maybe  not."  It  was  his  only  reply. 
Then  he  walked  the  floor  of  the  bar-room  for  a  good 
while,  his  eyes  bent  down. 

"  She's  an  ugly  customer  to  be  about,"  he  re 
marked,  at  length,  buttoning  up  his  coat,  "  and  if  she 
does  meet  '  her  man/  as  you  say,  society  will  have  a 
new  sensation." 

"Do  you  know  her,  Mr.  L ?"  I  asked  as  I 

saw  him  make  a  movement  to  go  away.  I  put  the 
question  abruptly,  and  watched  his  face.  I  did  not 
make  much  out  of  it. 

He  only  shook  his  head  in  reply.  I  did  not  be 
lieve  him. 

"  She  mistook  you  for  some  one  else,"  I  said,  try 
ing  to  lead  him  on. 

"  Of  course.  If  I'd  been  '  her  man,'  as  you  say,  I 
don't  know  what  might  have  happened." 

"  She's  a  splendid-looking  woman,"  I  remarked. 

"  Splendid !" 

"  I  never  saw  such  eyes." 

"  Nor  anybody  else,"  he  returned,  a  little  off  his 
guard,  I  thought.  "At  least,"  he  added,  "judging 
from  the  single  glimpse  I  got  of  them.  But  I  must 
go.  I  don't  just  like  the  kind  of  customers  you 
have.  They're  dangerous.  Good-night;"  and  he 
went  away. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

I  HEARD  of  the  woman  next  day  as  having  vis 
ited  over  a  dozen  drinking-saloons  on  the  night 
she  called  on  us.  It  was  said  that  she  lived  in  New 
York  and  was  connected  with  a  good  family  there, 
and  that  she  had  become  partially  deranged  in  con 
sequence  of  an  unhappy  love  affair.  Others  said 
that  she  belonged  to  our  own  city,  and  that  Mr. 

L knew  all  about  her,  while  others  affirmed 

that  she  was  an  actress  from  New  Orleans,  and  was 
after  a  certain  gambler  well  known  in  all  our  prin 
cipal  seaboard  towns. 

I  had  often  seen  this  man,  and,  now  that  he  was 
mentioned,  I  recalled  his  face  as  bearing  some  re 
semblance  to  that  of  Mr.  L .  And,  what  was  a 

little  singular,  they  had  the  same  name,  and  for 
aught  I  knew  to  the  contrary  might  be  relatives. 

But  L the  gambler  was  a  man  of  notoriously 

bad  character,  while  L the  lawyer  stood  high  in 

the  community  as  a  man  of  honor  and  integrity. 

On  the  next  afternoon,  a  little  to  my  surprise,  I 

saw  L come  in  with  two  other  well-dressed  men. 

He  had  never  before  been  at  "  The  Retreat "  in  the 
daytime.  I  noticed  a  magnificent  diamond  pin  on 
his  bosom,  and  he  wore,  besides,  a  heavy  gold  chain 

155 


156  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

and  other  jewelry.  I  did  not  remember  to  have  seen 
these  on  the  night  before.  His  companions  had 
also  a  good  deal  of  jewelry  about  their  persons. 

In  looking  at  L as  he  stood  drinking  with 

his  companions,  I  was  struck  with  something  a  little 
strange  in  his  appearance.  His  face  seemed  fuller 
and  coarser,  I  thought,  and  the  eyes  less  clear  and 
calm,  and  not  just  like  the  eyes  I  remembered. 
Then  I  seemed  to  lose  the  old  likeness,  and  to  doubt 
if  it  were  really  Mr.  L ,  after  all. 

The  three  men,  after  drinking,  walked  away  from 
the  bar,  and  stood  talking  together,  in  undertones 
about  something  which  appeared  to  both  interest 
and  disturb  them.  They  looked  excited  and  an 
noyed,  I  thought.  After  a  while,  L came  back 

to  the  bar  and  handed  me  a  bill  to  pay  for  the  three 
drinks.  As  I  gave  him  the  change,  I  said,  ventur 
ing  to  be  a  little  familiar, 

"  Hope  that  little  affair  didn't  keep  you  awake  last 
night  ?" 

"  What  little  affair  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  half-angry 
flash  lighting  up  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  know — the  veiled  lady,"  I  answered, 
keeping  my  voice  low  and  for  his  ears  alone. 

I  saw  him  start.  A  heavy  frown  darkened  his 
face.  He  almost  glared  at  me,  a  hell  of  passion 
burning  in  his  eyes.  And  then  I  knew  him.  It 
was  L the  gambler. 

I  drew  quickly  back  from  him,  half  afraid  of  what 
I  saw  in  his  countenance,  saying, 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  157 

"  Oh,  pray  excuse  me.  I  mistook  you  for  another 
person." 

"  You  did,  ha  ?  What  other  person  ?"  he  de 
manded. 

"  I  thought  you  were  Mr.  L ,"  I  returned. 

"  You  look  so  much  alike." 

"  I  am  Mr.  L .  And  now,  sir,  I  want  you  to 

explain  yourself."  He  had  been  drinking  a  good 
deal,  I  could  see,  and  was  growing  more  excited. 
His  two  companions,  seeing  that  something  had  gone 
wrong  between  us,  came  up  to  the  bar  and  looked  at 
me  curiously.  , 

"  See  here,  my  young  friend,"  said  L ,  taking- 
out  a  revolver  as  he  spoke  and  laying  the  barrel 
across  the  railing  of  the  bar,  "  I  never  permit  fel 
lows  like  you  to  meddle  in  my  affairs." 

He  looked  like  a  devil  incarnate,  and  I  don't  won 
der  that  I  turned  pale. 

"  Put  up  that  thing,  Harry,"  exclaimed  one  of  his 
friends.  "  He  isn't  the  sort  of  game  to  deal  with  in 
this  fashion.  If  he's  insulted  you,  spit  in  his  face, 
knock  him  down." 

As  soon  as  I  could  speak,  I  said, 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir.  I  thought  you  were  Mr.  L 

the  lawyer." 

"The  devil  you  did!"  fell  in  tones  of  surprise 
from  the  gambler's  lips.  "  And  what  had  he  to  do 
with  the  veiled  lady  ?" 

"  She  came  in  last  night  when  he  was  here,  and 
14 


158  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

gave  him  a  little  start/'  I  replied,  not  stopping  to 
choose  my  words. 

The  three  men  looked  at  each  other  in  silence  for 

some  moments.  Then  L ,  speaking  in  a  different 

tone,  but  with  repressed  excitement,  asked, 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  was  this  veiled  lady  ?" 

I  described  her  as  minutely  as  I  could,  and  while 
I  did  so  I  saw  the  men  exchange  glances  and  nod 
intelligently  to  each  other. 

"  What  did  she  do  ?"  the  gambler  asked. 

I  described  the  way  in  which  she  almost  leaped 

across  the  room  when  she  saw  L ,  the  expression 

of  her  face  when  she  drew  aside  her  veil,  and  the 
movement  of  the  hand  thrust  down  into  the  pocket 
of  her  dress. 

I  saw  his  countenance  darken  and  his  lips  draw 
tightly  together. 

"  A  perfect  she-devil !"  one  of  the  men  said,  in  an 
undertone. 

"  Was  she  ever  here  before  ?"  asked  L . 

"  Not  lately.  A  few  months  ago  she  came  in  two 
or  three  times." 

«  What  did  she  do?" 

"  Only  stood  for  a  moment  or  two,  with  her  veil 
down,  and  then  went  out." 

"  You  mistook  me  for  Mr.  L the  lawyer,  who 

resides  in  the  city  ?"  said  the  gambler. 

"  I  did." 

"  Do  we  look  so  much  alike  ?" 

"The  resemblance  is  strong,"  I  replied. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  159 

"  Humph !"  he  ejaculated,  and  then  stood  musing 
for  a  while. 

"  You  mustn't  mind  me,"  he  said  as  he  recollected 
himself.  "  I  was  a  little  rough,  but  it's  my  way  when 
things  get  crosswise.  I  thought  you  were  meddling 
in  a  matter  that  did  not  concern  you." 

Without  further  remark  he  turned  away  and  went 
out  with  his  friends,  but  in  a  little  while  came  back 
alone,  looking,  I  thought,  pale  and  flurried. 

"  Have  you  a  private  room,"  he  asked,  in  a  ner 
vous  sort  of  way. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  I  want  it !"  He  spoke  in  a  quick,  imperative  tone 
of  voice. 

I  was  coming  from  behind  the  bar  to  show  him  up 
stairs,  when  a  hand  pushed  open  the  street  door  sud 
denly  and  with  force.  I  turned,  and  our  lady  visitor 
of  the  night  before,  with  her  veil  drawn  aside,  looked 
at  us  with  her  large,  dark,  passion-lighted  eyes. 

I  saw  the  gambler  blanch.  He  stood  as  if  par 
alyzed.  With  a  bound  the  woman  sprang  upon 
him,  and  ere  he  had  time  to  gain  an  attitude  of  de 
fence  had  flung  one  hand  spitefully  in  his  face,  and 
with  the  other  stabbed  him  in  the  throat. 

I  saw  the  blood  gush  over  the  woman's  hand.  At 
sight  of  it  she  dropped  the  dagger  with  which  she 

had  wounded  L and  vanished  through  the  door. 

All  passed  so  quickly  that  it  seemed  the  work  of  an 
instant.     No  attempt  was  made  to  follow  her. 

An  exclamation  of  horror  fell  from  the  gambler's 


160  Tlirce   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

lips  as  he  drew  his  hand  from  his  throat  and  saw 
that  it  was  covered  with  blood.  Almost  at  the  same 
moment  his  two  friends  came  in  from  the  street. 

"  She's  done  it  for  me,"  he  gasped  as  they  came 
up  to  where  he  stood.  And  then  he  cursed  her  with 
a  foul  profanity  such  as  I  had  rarely  if  ever  heard. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  follow  the  woman.  L 

was  taken  up  stairs,  and  the  nearest  surgeon  sent  for. 
In  the  mean  time  every  possible  effort  was  made  to 
stanch  the  flow  of  blood. 

The  wound  proved  dangerous,  but  not  fatal.  After 
it  was  closed  and  dressed  by  the  surgeon,  his  friends 
took  him  away  in  a  carriage.  An  effort  was  made 
to  keep  the  matter  out  of  the  newspapers,  but  the 
reporters  got  hold  of  it,  and  made  it  the  sensation 
of  the  hour,  at  least  among  the  flash  and  profession 
als.  I  don't  know  that  people  generally  gave  it  more 
than  a  passing  thought,  but  readers  of  the  Police 
Gazette  and  kindred  papers  had  an  appetizing  mor- 
ceau  served  up  with  quite  a  variety  of  sensational 
pictures,  not  one  of  which  gave  the  stabbing  incident 
correctly. 

Few  men  can  look  at  blood  without  a  shudder — 
human  blood,  I  mean — and  I  am  not  of  the  number. 
A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  me  as  I  saw  the  glit 
ter  of  steel  in  the  woman's  hand,  the  quick,  flashing 
stroke  and  the  gush  of  blood.  I  was  so  paralyzed 

for  the  moment  that  I  could  not  stir,  and  L 

stood  with  his  hands  dabbling  about  his  throat  until 
his  two  friends  came  in  from  the  street.  They  had 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  161 

met  the  woman  just  outside  of  the  door,  but  not 
knowing  what  she  had  done,  made  no  attempt  to 
stop  her. 

Only  a  week  before,  there  had  been  a  fight  in  the 
bar-room,  during  which  a  man  had  been  badly  cut, 
and  now  we  had  another  stabbing  affair.  I  could  not 
get  used  to  such  things.  They  shocked  my  nerves 
terribly.  If  bad-looking  fellows  came  in — and  we 
saw  them  pretty  often — I  felt  uneasy  until  they  went 
away.  If  two  men  who  had  been  drinking  freely 
got  to  arguing  with  each  other  in  voices  raised  to  a 
higher  pitch  than  usual,  I  was  in  a  state  of  uncom 
fortable  suspense  until  the  battle  of  words  was  over. 
I  had  seen  these  little  disputes  over  trifles  run  too 
often  into  quarrels  that  ended  in  blows.  There  was 
no  counting  on  men  after  a  glass  or  two.  The  most 
quiet  were  sometimes  the  most  quarrelsome  after 
drinking.  Over  and  over  again  have  I  seen  men 
who  had  come  in  with  a  good-humored  face  and  a 
pleasant  word  for  every  one,  change  in  half  an  hour 
to  ill-natured,  snarling  curs.  It  kept  one  on  the  ten 
ter-hooks  of  anxiety  and  fear  all  the  while. 

It  took  me  a  good  while  to  get  over  this  affair.  I 

have  not  seen  the  gambler  L in  our  city  since, 

nor  have  I  heard  anything  of  the  woman  who  made 
the  attempt  on  his  life.  As  for  the  gentleman  whose 
resemblance  to  the  gambler  came  near  costing  him 
his  life,  he  did  not  make  another  call  at  "  The  Re 
treat,"  wherever  else  he  may  have  gone. 

14*  L 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  weeks  and  months  passed  on,  and  we  gath 
ered  in  our  harvests.  "  Were  they  bountiful  ?" 
Yes.  "  But  as  a  man  soweth,  so  shall  he  reap."  We 
had  full  harvests,  but  I  do  not  think  either  Lloyd  or 
I  carried  our  sheaves  with  rejoicing. 

As  for  me,  I  had  no  one  to  care  for  or  think  about 
but  myself.  I  had  no  wife  or  children  to  set  them 
selves  in  opposition  to  my  schemes,  or  to  feel  dis 
graced  by  my  business.  I  went  and  came,  and  did 
as  I  pleased.  It  was  different  with  my  partner,  Tom 
Lloyd.  The  harvest  I  reaped  was  not  all  grain  and 
sweet-scented  clover — no,  not  by  any  means — but  as 
he  gathered  in  he  found  more  of  juiceless  brambles 
and  stinging-nettles  than  wheat  or  hay.  His  harvest 
was  indeed  accursed. 

I  had  long  since  ceased  to  visit  in  his  family.  The 
opposition  of  his  wife  and  daughter  Maggy  was  so 
strong  and  unyielding  that  I  found  it  unpleasant 
from  the  beginning  to  meet  them.  Maggy,  as  I  have 
already  said,  was  unusually  attractive,  of  a  sen 
sitive  mental  organization,  and  superior  to  most  girls 
in  her  condition.  Lloyd  had  been  very  fond  and 
proud  of  her,  as  well  he  might  be. 

My  readers  will  remember  the  incident  of  her  faint- 

162 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  163 

ing  in  school,  and  the  utter  prostration  of  mind  and 
body  that  followed.  The  young  teacher  Mark  Wat 
son  never  called  to  see  her  again,  and  Maggy  never 
went  back  to  school.  A  gulf  had  opened  suddenly 
between  them,  and  it  did  not  close. 

It  was  two  or  three  months  before  Maggy  showed 
interest  in  anything.  During  most  of  this  time  she 
suffered  from  physical  as  well  as  nervous  prostration. 
For  a  whole  week  after  she  had  the  fainting  spell  at 
school  she  lay  in  a  dull,  half-unconscious  state,  an 
swering  no  questions  and  showing  no  interest  in 
anything.  Lloyd  was  very  much  alarmed  and  anx 
ious  about  her.  His  old  tender  love  for  her  came 
back,  and  I  know  the  thought  that  he  had  really 
brought  her  to  this  haunted  him  like  a  spectre  and 
hurt  him  like  a  throbbing  sore. 

"  How  is  Maggy  ?"  I  asked,  one  morning,  several 
days  after  her  trouble  at  school.  Lloyd  had  come 
in  at  a  much  later  hour  than  usual.  His  face  wore 
an  anxious  expression. 

He  merely  shook  his  head  in  reply,  and  shut  his 
lips  tightly. 

"  Not  worse  ?"  I  ventured  to  say. 

"  Don't  know.  Can't  make  it  out,"  he  replied, 
gloomily. 

"  Hasn't  she  rallied  any  within  a  day  or  two  ?" 

"  A  little,  maybe.  She's  more  restless,  and  starts 
and  moans  in  her  sleep." 

"  Does  she  answer  when  you  speak  to  her  ?" 

"  No.     This  morning  I  sat  down  by  her  bed,  and 


164  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

taking  her  hand,  squeezed  it  tightly,  saying,  '  Maggy 
dear—' " 

His  voice  broke  a  little,  and  I  saw  his  lips  work 
nervously.  But  he  recovered  his  self-possession, 
and  went  on. 

" '  Maggy  dear/  I  said,  '  is  there  nothing  I  can  do 
for  you  ?'  But  for  all  I  could  see  in  her  face — her 
eyes  were  shut — my  voice  made  no  impression.  I 
tried  again  and  again.  I  said,  '  If  you  love  me, 
Maggy,  just  press  my  hand.'  But  she  did  not  seem 
to  hear.  Oh,  Hiram,  it's  dreadful  to  see  her  so. 
I'm  frightened  about  it.  I  haven't  an  instant's  peace 
of  mind." 

He  went  back  and  forth  between  his  home  and  the 
saloon  several  times  each  day.  All  his  old  love, 
which  had  seemed  under  the  excitement  and  cross 
purposes  attendant  on  the  starting  of  our  new  busi 
ness  wcllnigh  crushed  out,  stirred  once  more  in  his 
heart  and  regained  its  old  power. 

After  about  two  weeks,  Maggy  began  to  recover 
from  the  shock  she  had  received.  To  my  question 
as  to  how  she  was,  Lloyd  answered,  with  a  troubled 
look  on  his  face, 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  her,  Hiram. 
I'm  sometimes  afraid  her  mind's  gone.  I'd  give  al 
most  anything  to  know  just  what  happened  at  school 
— if  that  teacher  said  anything  wrong  to  her.  Blast 
his  heart !  If  I  was  sure  he'd  done  or  said  anything 
out  of  the  way,  I'd  murder  him." 

"  That  wouldn't  mend  matters,"  I  replied. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  165 

"  It  would  teach  him  a  lesson,  confound  him !"  he 
answered. 

A  few  days  after,  he  seemed  a  little  more  cheerful, 
and  to  my  question  about  Maggy  said, 

"  I  hope  she'll  come  all  right.  Yesterday  she  sat 
up  for  an  hour  or  two  and  talked  a  little.  But  her 
face  is  so  sad,  Hiram.  I  never  saw  anything  like  it. 
It  makes  the  tears  come  into  my  eyes  to  look  at 
her." 

Slowly  her  life-pulses  came  beating  back,  but 
never  with  the  old  strength  and  fullness.  After  a 
few  weeks  she  began  to  take  some  interest  in  house 
hold  matters,  and  to  care  for  her  two  younger  broth 
ers,  Harvey  and  Willy,  the  latter  not  yet  six  years 
old.  But  she  remained  weak  in  body,  and  tired 
easily  if  she  made  any  unusual  effort.  Often,  for  a 
whole  hour  at  a  time  if  not  disturbed,  she  would 
sit  with  her  hands  laid  across  each  other  on  her  lap 
and  her  eyes  fixed  in  an  absent  way.  If  spoken  to 
at  these  times,  she  would  give  a  low  sigh,  and  drift 
back  to  what  was  around  her  like  one  coming  out 
of  a  dream.  Sometimes  she  would  try  to  force  a 
smile  to  her  lips  as  you  disturbed  her  reverie,  but  it 
was  so  faint  and  fugitive  that  you  scarcely  saw  it. 

So  it  went  on,  month  after  month,  Maggy  gaining 
a  little  all  the  while,  but  so  little  that  both  father 
and  mother  gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  the  old 
sweet  light  in  her  face.  Six  months  passed  without 
her  foot  going  over  the  threshold  of  her  father's 
house,  and  no  persuasion  could  draw  her  out.  If 


1 66  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

urged  too  strongly,  the  answer  of  her  wet  eyes  and 
trembling  lips  always  closed  the  argument.  Several 
times  her  father  brought  a  carriage  to  the  door, 
hoping  she  might  consent  to  ride  out  with  him,  but 
she  could  not  be  induced  to  go.  If  he  lost  patience 
with  her,  as  he  did  now  and  then,  particularly  after 
he  had  been  drinking  a  little  more  than  usual,  she 
would  break  into  a  fit  of  sobbing  and  crying,  and  so 
end  the  contest.  He  bought  her  handsome  dresses, 
but  she  did  not  wear  them  ;  he  gave  her  a  watch ;  he 
gave  her  earrings  and  breastpins  and  one  pretty  trifle 
after  another,  but  they  were  all  laid  away  in  her 
drawers.  Her  heart  was  not  in  them. 

Lloyd  was  baffled,  worried  and  unhappy.  He 
could  not  understand  the  case.  He  did  not  know  a 
woman's  heart.  I  wonder  if  any  man  does  ? 

"  I  shall  have  to  make  a  change  at  home,"  he  said 
after  we  had  been  in  business  six  months  and  were 
beginning  to  get  ahead.  "  Maggy  won't  go  out,  and 
she'll  die  or  get  beside  herself  if  there  isn't  some 
break  in  her  life.  You'd  hardly  know  her,  Hiram, 
she's  so  altered.  No  more  color  in  her  face  than 
there  is  in  a  snowbank.  It  used  to  do  my  heart 
good  to  hear  her  laughing  and  singing  about  the 
house,  and  to  meet  her  smiling  face  when  I  came 
home.  She  would  put  her  arm  about  my  neck 
sometimes  and  kiss  me  when  I  came  in,  saying, 
'  Poor,  dear  father,  you  look  so  tired.'  " 

Lloyd  stopped  and  turned  his  head  away.  I  knew 
what  it  meant,  for  I  heard  a  choke  in  his  voice  on 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  167 

the  last  word.  In  a  little  while  he  went  on,  drop 
ping  his  voice  to  a  lower  key : 

"  But  there's  nothing  of  that  now.  She  hardly 
looks  up  when  I  come  in,  doesn't  seem  to  hear  my 
step,  never  smiles  when  I  speak  to  her,  and  looks  at 
me  sometimes  in  such  a  strange  way  that  it  sends  a 
kind  of  creep  to  my  heart." 

"  What  kind  of  a  change  do  you  think  of  making  ?" 
I  asked. 

"  I  must  move  out  of  that  little  house  into  a  larger 
and  better  one,  and  buy  new  furniture :  I  can  afford 
it  now." 

"  I  have  been  wondering  that  you  did  not  do  this 
before,"  I  replied. 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,  but  when  I  did  move,  I 
wanted  to  make  a  sort  of  dash,  and  I'm  not  just  able 
to  do  that  yet." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  dash.  Get  a  nice  new 
house  somewhere  in  a  pleasant  neighborhood,  and 
set  Maggy  and  her  mother  at  work  to  furnish  it.  Let 
them  have  their  own  say  and  gratify  their  own  taste. 
I  don't  know  anything  more  likely  to  bring  Maggy 
round." 

"  Glad  you  think  so,  Hiram,"  he  answered,  bright 
ening.  "  I  don't  see  what  else  I  can  do." 

"  It  will  work  like  a  charm ;  you  may  count  on 
that,"  said  I,  confidently. 

But  it  didn't.  They  could  not  even  get  Maggy 
out  to  look  at  the  new  house.  But  after  it  was  taken 
she  assisted  her  mother  in  moving  and  arranging 


1 68  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

their  new  home  to  the  utmost  of  her  strength.  After 
that  she  fell  back  into  her  old  sluggish  state. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  at  home  ?"  I  asked  of 
Lloyd  after  he  had  been  two  or  three  months  in  his 
new  house. 

The  question  sent  a  cloud  over  his  face. 

"  Isn't  Maggy  coming  round  all  right?" 

He  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  I  had  hoped  for  a  better  report  by  this  time." 

"  So  had  I,  but  I  seem  to  have  lost  my  reckoning 
in  this  world,  and  don't  know  that  I  shall  ever  find 
it  again.  Things  don't  come  out  as  they  used  to. 
If  I  got  a  little  wrong  or  out  of  sorts  or  troubled  in 
my  mind,  home  generally  brought  me  right  again. 
I  could  count  on  the  pleasant  faces  there,  on  the  rest 
and  peace  and  comfort  of  my  little  nook,  poor  as  it 
was.  But  now  I  feel  a  shadow  settling  down  on  my 
feelings  as  I  get  nearer  and  nearer  my  home,  and  an 
icy  chill  sometimes  when  I  enter  it.  Nobody  smiles 
there,  nobody  talks  cheerfully  and  lovingly,  nobody 
is  happy.  Even  little  Harry  and  Willy  have  lost 
their  old  wild  playfulness." 

"  How  is  Thomas  getting  along  ?"  I  asked. 

The  gloomy  lines  on  his  forehead  deepened. 

"  Badly,"  he  answered. 

"  Hasn't  left  his  place,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  How  came  that  ?" 

"  Don't  know  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  it,  but  he's  at 
home.  That  much  is  clear." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  169 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  try  and  get  him  into 
some  bindery  again  ?  He's  worked  at  the  trade,  and 
it  will  be  safer  for  him  than  a  place  like  the  one  he 
left." 

"  Easier  said  than  done.  If  Ashley  wasn't  such 
a  spiteful  dog,  he'd  let  him  come  back  again.  But 
there's  no  use  trying  him ;  besides,  Tom's  been  away 
from  regular  and  close  employment  for  six  months, 
and  got  idle  habits,  I'm  afraid.  Don't  believe  he 
could  be  made  to  stick  to  work." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  I  replied. 

"  I  know,  and  it's  worrying  me  dreadfully.  The 
boy'll  go  to  ruin  if  he's  left  on  the  street,  as  he  now 
is.  His  mother  can't  do  anything  with  him,  and  I've 
got  my  hands  full  here." 

I  had  no  clear  advice  to  give,  and  so  said  nothing 
more.  But  in  my  heart  I  was  thankful  that  I  had 
neither  wife  nor  children. 

I  knew  but  little  of  what  went  on  in  Lloyd's  fam 
ily  after  that,  but  I  could  see  from  his  countenance 
and  state  of  mind  when  he  came  each  morning  that 
he  was  still  "  out  of  his  reckoning,"  as  he  had  said — 
that  he  had  lost  his  home  and  was  not  able  to  find  it. 
The  better  house  and  the  new  furniture  had  not  done 
all  that  he  had  expected.  They  did  not  ease  the 
heartache,  nor  allay  anxiety,  nor  take  away  the  sense 
of  shame  and  disgrace.  They  were  accepted  and 
used,  not  enjoyed. 

But  for  one  thing,  I  believe  Lloyd  would  have 
absented  himself  almost  entirely  from  his  home.  He 

15 


170  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

was  making  some  rather  dangerous  friends — sporting 
men,  most  of  them — and  was  beginning  to  find  in  their 
society  a  refuge  from  the  disquiet  he  so  often  felt. 
He  would  frequently  ride  out  with  some  of  them, 
and  be  away  from  the  saloon  in  their  company  for 
hours  at  a  time.  But  there  was  one  thing  that  ever 
drew  him  back  to  his  home,  and  that  was  his  love 
for  his  daughter — a  love  that  seemed  to  grow  stronger 
every  day.  I  wondered  at  this  sometimes,  seeing 
how  she  had  turned  herself  from  him,  and  how  ut 
terly  irresponsive  to  his  affection  she  had  become. 
After  a  year,  Maggy's  coldness  toward  her  father 
began  to  give  way.  Her  heart  responded,  feebly  at 
first,  to  the  tender  care  and  unfailing  interest  he  had 
never  ceased  to  show.  She  would  welcome  his  com 
ing  home  with  a  little  faint  smile,  and  when  he  kissed 
her  show  that  she  was  pleased.  Then  he  began  to 
lavish  things  upon  her,  buying  now  a  bit  of  jewelry, 
now  a  handsome  scarf,  now  a  fan  or  some  pretty 
article  for  the  toilette. 

"  It  isn't  worth  while,  father,"  she  would  say,  when 
he  brought  such  presents.  "I've  got  more  now 
than  I  know  what  to  do  with." 

Even  that  response  was  grateful  to  the  father's 
heart,  hungering  as  it  was  for  the  lost  love  of  his 
child.  She  gave  him  what  she  could,  and  tried  to 
give  more  from  a  growing  sense  of  filial  duty.  Little 
as  it  was  in  outward  sign,  Lloyd  took  it  as  a 
sweet  morsel. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  171 

One  day  he  said  to  me,  with  a  new  pleasure  in  his 
face, 

"  I  shall  not  be  back  this  afternoon — not  before 
night.  Going  to  drive  in  the  park  with  Maggy  and 
her  mother." 

I  did  not  express  surprise,  but  looked  the  pleasure 
I  felt. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  I  returned.  "  Hope  you'll  have 
a  nice  time." 

"  Guess  I  will.  Mean  to  have  an  elegant  turnout. 
Ordered  a  phaeton  and  pair  of  the  handsomest  horses 
in  R 's  stables." 

He  was  in  high  spirits  all  the  morning,  and  went 
home  early  to  dinner.  It  was  near  eight  o'clock  be 
fore  he  came  bapk.  The  moment  he  entered  the 
door  I  saw  that  something  had  gone  wrong.  He 
did  not  look  at  me  as  he  came  to  the  bar,  but  reached 
for  a  decanter  of  brandy  and  filled  a  glass  nearly  half 
full;  adding  some  water  to  this,  he  drank  off  the 
liquor  at  a  single  draught. 

I  did  not  deem  it  best  to  say  anything  to  him 
then,  for  I  saw  that  from  some  cause  he  was  suffer 
ing  deeply,  and  understood  his  peculiarities  well 
enough  to  know  that  I  had  better  let  him  alone. 
After  remaining  half  an  hour  he  went  out,  and  did 
not  return  again  that  night. 

He  looked  careworn  and  troubled  when  he  ap 
peared  next  morning. 

"  I  hope  no  one  is  sick,"  I  remarked. 

He   did   not  answer   me,    so    I    let  him    alone. 


1/2  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Something  very  serious  had  occurred,  that  was  plain. 
I  watched  his  face  when  he  did  not  observe  me,  and 
saw  that  pain,  not  anger,  was  below.  He  drank  more 
freely  than  usual,  and  was  irritable. 

"  I  shall  not  be  back  to-night,"  he  said  as  he  was 
going  away,  a  little  after  six  o'clock. 

"  All  right,"  I  returned,  pleasantly.  "  We  can  get 
along." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IT  all  came  out  on  the  next  day.  When  Lloyd 
made  his  appearance  in  the  morning,  some  of  the 
shadows  had  fallen  away  from  his  face,  though  it  still 
wore  an  anxious  look. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  about  your  drive  in  the 
park,"  I  said  when  a  good  opportunity  offered. 

It  was  as  if  I  had  touched  him  with  a  probe.  I 
saw  the  quick  flushes  of  pain  break  into  his  face. 

"  What  has  happened,  Tom  ?  There  was  no  ac 
cident,  I  hope  ?" 

"  No — oh  no,"  he  answered. 

"  But  something  went  wrong.  What  was  it,  Tom  ? 
I  hope  Maggy  didn't  get  frightened,  or  take  cold, 
or—" 

"  No,  nothing  of  that,"  he  replied. 

"  What  then  ?  I  feel  anxious  to  know."  Then  he 
told  me. 

"  I  had  a  splendid  turnout,"  he  began  —  "  as 
handsome  a  team  as  you  could  find  on  the  road. 
Maggy  looked  sweet.  There  was  just  a  little  color 
in  her  face,  and  her  eyes  were  so  large  and  bright ! 
She  was  dressed  like  any  lady  in  the  land.  I  did 
feel  so  proud  of  her,  Hiram.  It  would  have  done 

15*  173 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

your  heart  good  to  see  how  everybody  gazed  at  her. 
I  heard  it  said,  *  Who  is  she  ?'  a  dozen  times. 

"  Every  little  while  I  turned  to  look  at  Maggy  or 
to  say  something  pleasant.  Now  I  pointed  out  some 
pretty  view  as  we  rolled  through  the  park,  now  tried 
to  amuse  her  by  making  sport  of  some  of  the  funny 
turnouts  and  queer-looking  people  we  met,  and  now 
asked  if  she  were  not  enjoying  the  ride.  Her  inter 
est  in  things  did  not  come  up  to  my  expectations. 
Still,  she  was  pleased.  It  was  doing  her  good ;  that 
I  saw  plainly. 

"  We  had  driven  through  the  western  park,  across 
the  river  at  the  Falls,  up  and  down  the  Wissahickon, 
and  were  coming  back  by  the  river-road.  Maggy 
was  getting  tired,  and  when  I  turned,  as  I  did  every 
little  while,  to  say  something,  I  noticed  that  her  face 
had  lost  its  color  and  looked  pale  and  weary.  The 
old  sad  expression  I  saw,  too,  settling  about  her 
mouth. 

" '  You  are  feeling  tired,  Maggy  ?'  I  said. 

" '  Yes,'  she  answered. 

" '  I'm  sorry  I  drove  so  far.  But  we'll  soon  get 
home;'  and  I  touched  the  horses  to  quicken  their 
speed.  They  sprung  forward  with  a  sudden  bound, 
startling  Maggy  and  sending  the  color  again  into 
her  cheeks.  Just  then,  a  little  way  in  front,  I  saw  a 
handsome  buggy  coming  toward  us.  It  contained 
a  young  gentleman  and  lady.  They  were  talking 
familiarly,  leaning  toward  each  other,  while  the 
horse,  left  almost  to  himself,  walked  leisurely.  They 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  175 

were  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  We  were  dashing  along 
at  a  rapid  rate.  I  drew  in  my  horses  with  a  sudden 
pull,  and  just  in  time  to  prevent  an  accident.  For  a 
moment  our  teams  stood  nearly  side  by  side,  and 
both  parties,  now  only  a  few  feet  distant,  looked  into 
each  other's  faces, 

"Something  in  the  young  man's  countenance 
struck  me  as  familiar,  and  to  my  surprise  I  saw  from 
its  expression  that  Maggy  was  recognized.  In  the 
next  instant  we  were  dashing  forward  again. 

"  When  I  turned  to  Maggy,  she  was  leaning  back 
against  the  cushions  with  her  eyes  shut  and  her  face 
as  white  as  marble. 

"  ' Look  at  Maggy!'  I  cried  to  her  mother.  '  She's 
fainted.' 

"  Jane  caught  hold  of  her  in  alarm,  and  called  to 
her. 

"  '  It's  nothing,  mother.  I  only  feel  a  little  faint/ 
Maggy  answered,  without  opening  her  eyes. 

"  '  She  was  frightened,'  Jane  said. 

"  But  I  knew  better.  She  didn't  open  her  eyes  all 
the  way  home,  and  only  answered  to  our  questions 
that  she  felt  a  little  faint. 

"  When  we  got  back,  she  was  so  weak  that  I  had 
almost  to  carry  her  across  the  pavement  and  into 
the  house.  She  lay  on  the  sofa  in  the  parlor  until 
I  drove  the  carriage  home.  On  my  return  I  lifted 
her  in  my  arms  and  took  her  to  her  room. 

" '  I'm  sorry  to  be  so  much  trouble  to  you,  father/ 
she  said  as  I  laid  her  upon  her  bed.  She  did  not 


176  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

open  her  eyes  as  she  spoke.  But  I  saw  the  lids 
quiver  and  the  shine  of  tears  under  them. 

"  I  could  not  ask  what  ailed  her.  I  knew  that  too 
well,  and  dared  not  put  the  question. 

"  All  her  strength  seemed  suddenly  to  have  died 
out.  Her  mother  brought  her  some  tea,  but  she 
pushed  the  hand  that  offered  it  gently  away,  saying 
in  a  weak  voice, 

"  '  Not  now,  mother.  After  a  while.  Let  me  lie 
here  just  as  I  am.  I'll  feel  better  soon — maybe.' 

"  That  maybe,  spoken  to  herself — oh,  Hiram,  it 
had  in  it  a  longing  for  death !  I  never  so  felt  the 
meaning  in  a  tone  of  voice  before. 

"  She  lay  all  night  in  a  still,  half-waking  sleep.  I 
could  not  go  to  bed.  I  was  afraid  she  might  die. 
In  the  morning  there  was  little  change.  If  we 
roused  her,  she  would  answer  feebly,  and  then  sink 
away,  breathing  softly  like  an  infant.  She  made  an 
effort  to  eat  when  food  was  brought  by  her  mother, 
swallowing  a  few  mouthfuls.  But  there  was  no  rel 
ish.  She  did  not  want  it,  and  only  took  a  little  of 
what  was  offered  from  a  desire  to  allay  our  concern. 

" '  Don't  be  troubled  about  me,  father,'  she  said, 
in  reply  to  my  anxious  questions  as  to  how  she  felt. 
'  I'll  come  all  right  again.  I'm  sorry  to  give  you  so 
much  trouble,  but  I'm  very  weak,  and  can't  help 
it.' 

"  All  that  day  she  remained  in  bed,  lying  with  her 
face  to  the  wall,  and  looking,  oh  so  pale  and  sad. 
She  seemed  more  like  herself  last  evening,  and  once, 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  177 

as  I  sat  holding  her  hand,  she  raised  mine  to  her 
lips  and  kissed  it. 

" '  Like  a  faithful  dog/  I  could  not  help  saying  to 
myself,  'that  kisses  the  hand  of  his  master  after  it 
has  struck  him  a  death-blow.'  It  was  a  strange 
thing  for  me  to  say  in  my  thought,  but  the  speech 
was  from  an  impulse  hardly  my  own. 

"  She  seems  better  this  morning,"  Lloyd  contin 
ued — "  sat  up  in  bed  and  took  some  breakfast.  She 
even  tried  to  dress  herself,  but  was  too  weak." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  tell  the  reader  that  the 
young  man  seen  in  the  park  was  Maggy's  old  lover, 
Mark  Watson.  That  meeting  him  under  the  cir 
cumstances  should  have  had  such  an  effect  upon 
her  is  one  of  the  heart  mysteries  I  do  not  pretend 
to  understand.  All  this  dying  of  love  and  breaking 
of  hearts  I  had  never  believed  in.  It  was  pretty 
stuff  to  put  in  books  for  young  girls  to  read,  but 
I  had  no  idea  that  it  ever  happened  in  real  life — 
certainly  not  in  the  kind  of  real  life  I  had  come 
across. 

The  case  of  Maggy  puzzled  me.  I  had  seen  Wat 
son  a  few  times.  He  was  a  fair  sort  of  a  young  man, 
and  tolerably  good-looking,  but  I  can't  say  that  I 
liked  his  face  altogether,  and  saw  nothing  in  it  to  set 
a  young  girl  crazy.  As  for  Maggy,  she  was  lov 
able  and  no  mistake.  There  was  something  about 
her  that  made  her  seem  different  from  any  other  girl 
I  had  ever  met.  Her  manners  were  those  of  a  born 
lady,  and  she  had  always  appeared  like  one  lifted  up 

M 


178  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

somehow  above  the  people  with  whom  she  asso 
ciated — one  very  tender  and  sensitive  cast  in  among 
the  coarse  and  the  common,  with  whom  she  could 
have  but  little  in  kind,  and  who  hurt  her  always 
when  they  touched  her. 

This  incident  of  meeting  Watson  in  the  park  had 
the  effect  to  throw  Maggy  away  back.  All  she  had 
gained  in  months  was  lost. 

"  I  feel  so  troubled  about  her,"  Lloyd  remarked 
to  me  some  weeks  later.  "  She  used  to  be  so  strong 
and  bright,  and  had  such  a  happy  heart.  But  now 
she  has  scarcely  the  strength  of  a  child,  and  her  pale 
face  is  a  picture  of  sadness.  She  wants  change. 
The  doctor  says  I  must  take  her  to  the  seashore." 

"  The  very  thing  for  her,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  but  she  will  not  go,"  he  answered. 

"You  will  have  to  use  authority,"  I  suggested. 
"  She  is  sick  in  mind  as  well  as  body,  and  not  capa 
ble  of  judging  for  herself.  Take  my  advice,  and  in 
sist  on  her  going.  Say  that  the  doctor  has  positively 
ordered  her  to  be  taken  to  the  shore." 

"  Suppose  she  were  to  meet  Watson  there  ?"  said 
Lloyd.  "  It's  as  likely  a  thing  as  not." 

"  She's  got  to  get  over  that  somehow,"  I  rejoined, 
"  and  the  sooner  the  better.  A  second  meeting  will 
not  be  half  so  bad  as  the  first.  A  scary  horse  is 
cured  by  making  him  look  again  and  again  at  the 
thing  that  frightened  him.  I  don't  believe  she'd  be 
half  as  much  disturbed  if  she  were  to  meet  him  face 
to  face  to-day  as  she  was  when  she  saw  him  for  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  179 

first  time  in  over  a  year.  Two  or  three  meetings 
will  make  it  an  old  story." 

Lloyd  was  inclined  to  take  my  view  of  the  case. 
He  saw  the  doctor,  and  got  him  to  give  a  positive 
order  to  take  Maggy  down  to  the  seashore.  Find 
ing  that  her  father's  heart  was  set  upon  it,  Maggy 
ceased  to  offer  any  opposition. 

"  It  will  be  of  no  use,"  she  said.  "  But  if  you  wish 
it,  I  will  go." 

She  stayed  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  came  back 
stronger  and  brighter.  Her  father  was  much  elated 
by  the  result,  and  wanted  to  go  with  her  to  the  moun 
tains.  But  she  begged  so  not  to  be  taken  away 
again  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  compel  her. 

After  that  she  led  a  quiet,  dreamy  sort  of  life. 
She  read  but  little.  Books  seemed  to  disturb  her. 
Of  her  two  younger  brothers  she  was  very  fond,  and 
had  them  with  her  a  great  deal. 

So  it  went  on  for  another  year.  Then  a  new  life 
began  to  awaken  in  her.  She  had  become  interested 
in  some  poor  people  living  near  by,  and  in  her  visits 
to  their  houses  met  one  day  a  lady  who  was  drawn 
toward  her  at  once.  This  lady,  a  member  of  one  of 
the  churches,  was  devoting  herself  to  works  of  char 
ity  among  the  poor.  She  saw  in  Maggy  all  the  qual 
ities  of  mind  and  heart  needed  for  a  companion  and 
helper,  while  Maggy  found  in  her  a  friend  and  guide 
who  could  lead  her  into  new  paths  of  life  and  lift 
her  mind  into  more  peaceful  regions  than  it  had  ever 
been  able  alone  to  reach. 


180  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Through  the  influence  of  this  lady,  Maggy  was 
led  to  join  the  church  and  to  become  a  Sunday- 
school  teacher. 

Lloyd  told  me  about  it  one  day  with  a  pleased 
manner,  at  which  I  could  not  but  wonder,  seeing 
that  our  interests  were  all  on  the  other  side. 

"  It  won't  work  well,"  I  answered. 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Can't  you  see  ?  It  won't  be  a  month  before 
every  teacher  and  every  scholar  in  the  school  will 
know  that  her  father  keeps  a  liquor-saloon." 

"  Confound  you,  Hiram  !  Haven't  you  anything 
else  to  say?"  An  angry  flush  reddened  Lloyd's 
face  as  he  spoke.  "  And  suppose  they  do  know  it, 
what  then  ?" 

"  It  won't  be  long  before  some  good  Christian 
among  them  will  draw  back  the  skirts  of  her  gar 
ment  as  she  passes,  lest  the  touch  be  pollution." 

"  Christian !     Faugh  !     Better  say  Pharisee  !" 

"  Christian  or  Pharisee,  it  will  be  all  the  same  to 
Maggy,"  I  returned. 

I  had  troubled  the  waters  of  his  spirit.  The  light 
went  out  of  his  face ;  he  looked  very  sober. 

"And  then,"  I  continued,  "it  won't  be  a  great 
while  after  that  before  some  other  good  and  wise 
Christian  brother  or  sister  will  feel  moved  to  talk 
with  her  about  the  iniquity  of  your  business,  and 
urge  her  to  use  her  influence  to  get  you  to  abandon 
it." 

"  Good  heavens !"  Lloyd  ejaculated,  beginning  to 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  181 

walk  about  and  show  considerable  agitation.  "  No, 
no,  Hiram.  I  don't  believe  any  one  would  be  so 
thoughtless  and  cruel.  Why,  it  would  almost  kill 
the  poor  child.  She'd  never  hold  up  her  head 
among  people  again." 

"  I'm  sorry  she's  got  into  this  thing,  Tom/'  I  re 
plied,  speaking  seriously.  "  It  can't  go  on  long. 
You  must  look  for  a  break  at  any  time,  and  be  pre 
pared  for  it.  Sunday-schools  and  churches  are  not 
in  our  line,  and  Sunday-school  and  church  people 
don't  tolerate  us.  They're  down  on  us  in  every  way 
— set  us  over  to  the  devil's  side — and  there  is  nothing 
too  bad  for  them  to  say  about  us.  No,  Tom.  It 
isn't  the  place  for  one  like  Maggy.  She  isn't  strong 
enough  to  bear  what  will  surely  come  upon  her. 
Just  imagine  some  cur  of  a  boy  looking  up  into  her 
face  and  saying, 

"  '  Doesn't  your  father  sell  rum  ?'  " 

Lloyd  fairly  caught  his  breath  and  seemed  to 
stagger  back  as  I  said  this,  while  he  grew  dark  with 
anger  and  pain. 

"  But  I  see  no  help  for  it,"  I  went  on.  "  Poor 
thing !  It's  gone  hard  with  her  ever  since  we  went 
into  this  business,  and  it  is  sure  to  get  no  better. 
I'm  beginning  to  think,  with  our  temperance  friends, 
that  it's  under  a  curse.  You  can  make  money,  and 
money's  about  everything  in  this  world — at  least 
you  and  I  thought  so  once.  But  peace  of  mind 
and  a  good  conscience,  if  they  are  of  any  account, 
don't  come,  I'm  thinking,  in  this  way.  If  my  pile 

16 


1 82  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

was  large  enough,  I'd  shut  up  shop  or  sell  out 
to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  if  the  pile  were  large  enough,  Hiram," 
Lloyd  answered,  moodily,  "but  it  isn't,  you  see. 
We  can't  afford  to  shut  up  shop:  what  would  you 
and  I  be  worth  as  bookbinders?  Not  much,  I 
take  it.  My  hand's  out,  and  I  couldn't  make  my 
salt." 

"  I  don't  intend  trying,"  I  returned.  "  In  for  a 
penny,  in  for  a  pound.  Going  to  get  my  pile,  and 
so  be  able  to  snap  my  fingers  in  the  world's  face. 
After  that — the  gentleman !" 

The  trouble  for  poor  Maggy  was  not  in  the  far 
distance.  She  was  a  liquor-seller's  daughter,  and  in 
a  Sunday-school  and  among  religious  and  charitable 
people  out  of  place.  The  needy  and  suffering  poor 
whose  miseries  she  sought  to  alleviate  were  in  most 
cases  made  poor  and  miserable  through  the  very 
traffic  that  she  was  aware  gave  her  a  pleasant  home, 
good  food  and  fine  clothing. 

One  day  she  went  to  visit  a  poor  woman  who 
she  learned  was  sick  and  unable  to  work.  She  took 
food  to  her  hungry  children,  and  did  all  in  her  power 
to  comfort  and  help  her.  But  the  woman  seemed 
hard  and  unthankful,  and  had  a  look  in  her  face 
that  hurt  Maggy. 

Just  as  she  was  going  away,  this  woman,  whose 
drunken  husband  spent  most  of  his  earnings  in 
dram-shops,  took  hold  of  Maggy's  dress,  which  was 


I  wonder  how  many  children  went  starving  that  you  might  wear  this 

Page  mi. 


Three   Years  in  a  Man- Trap.  183 

of  some  fine  material,  and  said,  with  a  bitter  sneer  in 
her  voice, 

"  I  wonder  how  many  children  went  starving  that 
you  might  wear  this  ?" 

Lloyd  found  her  in  bed  when  he  got  home  that 
day,  with  her  white  face  turned  to  the  wall.  All  he 
could  learn  from  her  mother  was  that  she  had  come 
home  from  one  of  her  visits  to  the  poor  and  gone 
quietly  to  her  room.  To  all  their  questions  she 
gave  no  answers  as  to  the  cause  of  her  trouble,  but 
her  father  had  his  guess,  and  it  was  not  far  out  of 
the  way. 

After  a  few  days  Maggy  was  about  again,  but  the 
sweet,  tender  patience  that  made  her  face  heavenly 
was  gone.  Instead  of  saintly  peace  you  saw  the 
martyr's  calm  endurance.  She  went  back  to  her 
work  self-compelled,  treading  on  thorns,  but  sus 
tained  by  a  pious  trust  in  God.  It  was  her  duty  to 
do  what  in  her  lay  to  help  and  comfort  the  poor  and 
wretched,  most  of  whom  were  in  need  because  of 
the  evil  wrought  among  them  by  just  such  work  as 
her  father  was  doing  daily. 

One  Sunday  a  temperance  lecture  was  given  to 
the  children  of  the  Sabbath-school  where  she  taught, 
and  the  lecturer  was  very  severe  on  men  who  sold 
liquor,  classing  them  among  the  worst  in  the  com 
munity.  His  strong  denunciations  sent  the  hot  blood 
to  her  thin  cheeks,  and  though  she  held  down  her 
head  in  shame,  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  floor,  she 
was  conscious  that  many  eyes  looked  often  toward 


1 84  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

her.  She  felt  them  striking  her  with  the  pain  of 
arrows. 

On  coming  home  she  went  to  her  room,  and  as 
she  did  not  appear  at  tea-time,  her  mother,  going 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  found  her  again  with 
her  white  face  to  the  wall.  She  had  learned  to  let 
her  alone  when  such  states  fell  upon  her,  and  quietly 
left  the  room. 

"What  can  have  happened?"  the  father  asked  as 
they  gathered  about  the  table. 

"  It  was  that  man  who  talked  to  us  in  school," 
said  little  Harvey. 

"  In  Sunday-school  ?"  inquired  Lloyd. 

"Yes,  sir.  And  I  don't  like  to  go  there.  The 
boys  call  me  '  rummy,'  and  say  that  my  daddy  keeps 
a  whisky-mill,  so  they  do." 

A  dead  silence  fell  upon  the  little  group  sitting  at 
the  tea-table.  Mrs.  Lloyd  did  not  venture  to  look  at 
her  husband.  He  was  dumb  for  a  while. 

"What  did  the  man  say?"  he  asked,  at  length, 
anxious  to  know  the  truth. 

"  It  was  about  temperance,"  answered  Harvey. 

"  Well,  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  talked  ever  so  much  about  rum-sellers, 
and  called  them  dreadful  bad  names." 

"He  did?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  it  made  Maggy  turn  red  and  then 
white,  and  she  held  down  her  head,  and  the  teachers 
and  children  looked  at  her.  And  Tom  Grant,  he 
punched  me  and  said,  '  Your  daddy's  one  of  'em.1  I 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  185 

don't  want  to  go  to  that  Sunday-school  any  more,  I 
don't.     Can't  I  stay  home,  father  ?" 

Lloyd  pushed  back  his  chair  with  a  bitter  excla 
mation  and  flung  himself  out  of  the  room.  He  was 
angry  beyond  measure,  yet  with  an  anger  so  blended 
with  pain  that  he  was  in  torture. 

16* 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"PROPHET  of  evil!"  Lloyd  said  to  me  in  a 

•A-  strange  rasping  voice  as  he  came  in  that  Sun 
day  evening  to  help  in  the  bar.  His  eyes  had  a  wild, 
desperate  expression,  and  he  looked  something  like 
an  animal  at  bay. 

"  It  has  come  at  last  ?"  I  responded,  for  I  guessed 
what  he  meant. 

"  What  has  come  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  thrill  of  fierce 
anger  in  his  tones. 

"  The  evil  I  prophesied.  I  told  you  a  Sunday- 
school  was  no  place  for  Maggy.  You  can't  mix  oil 
and  water,  and  it's  no  use  to  try." 

"  How  did  you  know  there  had  been  anything 
wrong  at  the  school  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know.  I  only  guessed.  I  knew  it  would 
come,  and  that  it  was  likely  to  come  any  day.  Well, 
what  was  it  ?" 

He  told  me  all  he  knew. 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  Maggy  and  the  boys  go 
back  there  to  be  picked  at  and  insulted  after  this 
fashion?"  I  asked. 

"  They'll  never  go  again,  if  I  have  my  say,"  he 
replied.  "  But  it  wor.'t  do  to  interfere  with  Maggy, 

186 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  187 

poor  thing !  She  must  have  her  will.  I  can't  say 
no  to  her.  And  Jane  is  so  anxious  about  Harvey 
and  Willy,  and  wants  them  in  the  Sunday-school.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do." 

We  were  interrupted  by  customers.  Not  long 
afterward  our  bar-tender,  who  had  been  up  stairs  in 
answer  to  calls  for  liquor,  said  to  me  aside,  that 
Lloyd  might  not  hear, 

"  Tom's  up  stairs." 

"  Not  Tom  Lloyd  ?"  I  answered. 

"Yes,  and  he's  been  in  a  muss  with  somebody, 
and  got  battered  up  dreadfully.  He  don't  want  his 
father  to  know  he's  here.  Says,  won't  you  come  up 
and  see  him  ?" 

As  soon  as  I  could  get  away  from  customers  I 
went  up  to  see  the  boy,  who  was  going  to  ruin  fast, 
I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  found  him  in  a  wretched  con 
dition.  His  face  was  cut  and  bruised,  and  the  fingers 
of  one  hand  badly  hurt,  swollen  and  very  painful — 
broken,  it  proved  to  be.  He  had  been  drinking.  I 
gathered  from  him  that  he  had  been  across  the  river 
with  a  gang  of  rowdy  boys  and  young  men,  and  that 
he  had  got  into  a  fight  with  one  of  them,  that  two 
or  three  joined  against  him,  beating  and  kicking  him 
about  the  body  and  in  the  face  in  a  most  savage 
manner.  I  wondered,  from  his  account  of  the  way 
they  set  upon  him,  that  worse  injuries  had  not  been 
the  consequence. 

"  Don't  let  father  know  about  it,"  he  said,  in  a 
piteous  way.  w  I  can't  stand  any  more." 


1 88  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  He'll  not  do  anything  to  you.  Don't  be  afraid/' 
I  replied. 

I  then  examined  his  hurts  as  well  as  I  could. 

"  There's  a  broken  bone  here,  I'm  afraid,  Tom," 
said  I,  after  turning  his  hand  about  and  examining 
the  swollen  finger,  "and  we'll  have  to  send  for  a 
doctor." 

He  groaned  from  pain  of  mind  as  well  as  body. 

"  Will  father  have  to  know  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  is  to  be  helped,  Tom,"  I  re 
plied.  "  I'll  see  him  first,  and  have  a  talk  with 
him." 

He  shut  his  eyes  and  closed  his  mouth  tightly. 
Poor  boy!  My  heart  ached  for  him.  Two  years 
before  he  was  such  a  nice  lad,  more  like  his  sister 
Maggy  than  any  of  the  other  children.  He  was  a 
favorite  in  the  bindery,  all  spoke  well  of  him,  and  all 
prophesied  that  he  would  grow  up  to  be  a  good  and 
useful  man.  Alas !  what  a  change  had  come  over 
him!  In  less  than  two  years  he  had  been  trans 
formed  into  a  coarse,  profane  rowdy,  the  slave  of 
evil  passion. 

I  went  down,  and  as  soon  as  I  could  get  Lloyd  by 
himself,  said, 

"  Tom's  got  into  trouble." 

A  scowl  darkened  his  face. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Where  is  he  ?"  he  asked, 
harshly. 

"You've  got  to  be  cool  about  it,  Tom,"  said  I. 
"It  isn't  a  case  for  anger,  but  care  and  concern. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  189 

He's  been  badly  beaten,  and  one  finger  is  broken, 
I'm  afraid." 

The  fierceness  went  out  of  his  face. 

"  Oh  dear !"  he  almost  groaned.  "  There's  no  end 
to  trouble." 

"  You'd  better  send  some  one  for  Dr.  ,"  I 

suggested. 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  If  it's  no  more  than  a  broken  finger,  there  will 
have  to  be  a  doctor,"  I  replied. 

"Where  is  he?     At  home?" 

"  No ;  he's  up  stairs." 

He  seemed  relieved  at  this,  saying,  "  I'm  glad  he 
didn't  go  home.  They're  in  trouble  enough  there,  as 
it  is." 

I  went  up  stairs  in  company  with  Lloyd.  I  did  so 
in  order  to  keep  him  from  breaking  out  angrily.  It 
was  no  time  for  a  passionate  assault  upon  the  un 
happy  boy. 

The  face  of  Tom,  swollen,  cut,  blood-marked  and 
purple  in  spots  from  knuckle  strokes  and  kicks,  as 
he  raised  his  head  and  looked  in  a  wistful,  fright 
ened  way  at  his  father,  was  a  sight  to  shock  any 
body's  nerves.  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  exclamation 
of  pain  and  alarm  that  fell  from  Lloyd  as  his  eyes 
first  rested  upon  him. 

A  doctor  wa^.  sent  for,  and  the  boy  examined 
carefully.  His  finger,  as  I  feared,  was  broken.  There 
was  a  deep,  ugly  bruise  on  one  of  his  cheeks,  his 
nose  was  swollen  to  double  its  usual  size  and  one 


190  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

of  his  eyes  was  black.  On  his  body  were  several 
bad  bruises.  He  had  been  kicked  in  the  side  just 
above  the  hip,  and  from  the  pain  he  felt  there,  the 
doctor  feared  there  might  be  an  internal  injury. 

After  setting  the  finger  the  doctor  very  naturally 
asked  how  Tom  came  to  be  beaten  in  so  shocking  a 
manner. 

"  It  wasn't  in  Sunday-school,  I  guess,"  he  added, 
before  there  was  time  for  an  answer  to  his  question. 

I  saw  Lloyd  wince  a  little. 

"  I  never  heard  of  Sunday-school  boys  fighting 
like  dogs  and  beating  their  companions  after  this 
savage  fashion,"  added  the  doctor. 

Neither  Tom  nor  his  father  felt  inclined  to  go  into 
particulars. 

After  the  doctor  went  away  we  held  a  consulta 
tion  as  to  what  would  be  best  to  do  with  the  boy. 
If  he  did  not  come  home  that  night,  his  mother 
would  be  frightened  about  him,  and  if  she  were  told 
of  what  had  happened,  she  would  be  made  wretched 
beyond  description.  Oh,  but  he  was  a  dreadful  ob 
ject  for  a  mother  to  look  upon ! 

"Better  keep  him  here  for  to-night,  at  least,"  I 
counseled.  "  It  will  never  do  for  his  mother  and 
Maggy  to  see  him  as  he  is." 

"  But  what  can  I  say  at  home  ?"  asked  Lloyd.  He 
looked  like  a  man  lost  and  bewildered. 

"Trump  up  some  story  that  will  pass  muster. 
Say  anything  except  the  naked  truth.  That  will 
come  soon  enough." 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  191 

"  It's  easy  to  talk,"  he  answered,  fretfully.  "  If 
you  had  two  or  three  women  to  manage,  you 
wouldn't  see  it  all  so  clearly." 

"  Which,  thank  Heaven !  I  have  not,"  was  my  fer 
vent  reply. 

It  was  decided  to  let  Tom  stay  where  he  was,  and 
get  up  some  story  to  explain  his  absence. 

On  the  next  day  he  went  home  to  lay  another 
sorrow  on  the  heart  of  his  mother. 

I  had  not  seen  Harry  Glenn  but  two  or  three 
times  since  the  night  his  brother-in-law  made  an 
assault  upon  him.  He  felt  the  disgrace  so  deeply 
that  he  did  not  go  back  to  work  in  the  office,  but  got 
in  somewhere  else.  He  went  down  very  rapidly 
after  his  wife  left  him. 

One  evening  about  this  time  he  came  shuffling 
into  our  bar-room,  a  most  forlorn-looking  object. 
His  clothes  were  shabby  and  dirty,  and  he  presented 
the  appearance  of  a  man  who  had  been  on  a  spree 
for  a  week  or  more.  His  eyes  were  bloodshotten 
and  had  a  wild,  restless  way  of  glancing  about  that 
suggested  mania.  All  his  motions  were  nervous. 
He  came  up  to  the  bar,  and  leaning  on  the  silver- 
plated  railing,  bent  his  face  over  toward  me,  and  said 
in  a  hoarse,  shaky  kind  of  voice, 

"  Brandy." 

I  did  not  often  refuse  men,  drunk  or  sober.  But  I 
felt  an  impulse  to  say  no  to  this  wretched  man,  fallen 
bO  deep  and  in  so  short  a  time.  I  remembered  that 
he  was  a  sober  man  with  a  wife  and  child  and  a 


192  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

home  when  we  opened  "The  Retreat,"  and  I  saw 
what  he  was  now.  It  all  passed  through  my  mind 
in  an  instant,  and  I  said  kindly  but  firmly, 

"You've  had  enough,  Harry,  for  to-night.  I 
wouldn't  take  any  more  if  I  were  you." 

"  Brandy !  Brandy,  Hiram  \"  he  answered,  in  a 
wild,  eager  way,  reaching  out  his  hand.  "  I  want 
brandy  or  whisky,  or  any  kind  of  spirits.  Quick, 
Hiram !"  and  I  saw  him  glare  over  his  shoulder 
with  a  nervous,  half-alarmed  start,  as  if  he  thought 
some  one  had  followed  him  in. 

"  I've  been  trying  to  shut  down,"  he  added,  in  a 
lower  voice  and  in  a  confidential  way,  "  but  it  don't 
work  right.  Just  a  glass,  Hiram.  Ugh  !" 

And  he  gave  a  quick  spring  backward,  while  fear 
and  disgust  writhed  in  his  face. 

"  Give  him  brandy,"  cried  old  Jacobs,  who  was 
present,  and  who  had  been  watching  Glenn  very 
closely  since  he  came  in.  The  old  pressman  came 
forward  as  he  spoke,  and  taking  the  miserable- 
looking  man  by  the  arm,  drew  him  again  up  to 
the  bar. 

I  hesitated  no  longer.  The  brandy  was  set  before 
him.  With  a  kind  of  desperate  eagerness,  Glenn 
reached  out  his  shaking  hand  toward  the  decanter, 
and  was  lifting  it  to  fill  a  glass  when  he  let  it  fall, 
with  an  exclamation  of  alarm.  There  was  a  look 
of  abject  horror  on  his  face. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Jacobs.  "  Tisn't  outside 
of  you.  Here !  Drink  \  Quick !"  He  had  filled 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  193 

the  glass  hastily,  and  now  held  it  toward  the  agitated 
man. 

There  were  two  or  three  of  the  rougher  and 
more  unfeeling  kind  of  bar-room  loungers  present. 

"  Ho !  ho !"  laughed  one  of  them,  starting  up  and 
coming  to  the  bar.  "  The  old  chap's  after  him,  dead 
sure!  Snakes  and  lizards,  devils  and  crocodiles, 
and  all  that  fancy  crew !  Bad  company,  my  friend." 

And  he  eyed  Glenn  with  the  excited  interest  of  a 
bully  enjoying  a  dog-fight. 

In  the  mean  time,  Glenn  had  clutched  the  glass 
with  both  hands  and  was  gulping  down  the  brandy. 

"Steady,  man!"  said  the  last  speaker,  his  face 
twitching  with  merriment.  "  That's  the  way.  Fight 
'em  with  brandy." 

But  the  fiends  had  too  strong  a  grip  on  the  poor 
fellow.  His  eyes  as  he  drank  were  looking  suspi 
ciously  into  the  glass,  and  before  the  last  drops  were 
drained,  he  saw  in  them  some  horrid  thing  of  life. 
A  cry,  a  start  of  fear  and  a  dashing  of  the  glass  to 
the  floor  followed. 

"  Got  him,  sure !"  chuckled  the  man  to  whom  I 
have  referred,  and  two  or  three  joined  in  the  laugh. 
"  Give  him  another  dose." 

By  this  time  Glenn  had  rushed  desperately  across 
the  room,  and  was  crouching  behind  a  table  trying 
to  hide  himself.  Jacobs  followed,  and  sought  to 
allay  his  fears. 

"  'Tisn't  anything  outside  of  you,  Harry  !  'Tisn't 
in  the  room  here.  I  don't  see  anything.  I'm  not 
17  N 


194  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

afraid,"  he  said,  bending  down  over  the  frightened 
man  and  laying  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  I 
know.  I've  had  it.  It's  only  an  ugly  kind  of  dream." 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  Glenn  answered,  partially  assured. 
"  But  I  never  had  it  before,  you  see.  It — " 

He  gave  another  start  and  cry,  almost  throwing 
Jacobs  over,  and  bounded  across  the  room,  where  he 
stood  crouching  and  shivering  against  the  wall. 

"  Go  for  a  policeman,"  Lloyd  said  to  the  bar 
keeper,  in  a  cold,  half-indifferent  way. 

"  Don't  do  any  such  thing,"  spoke  up  Jacobs,  an 
grily.  "  It  isn't  a  case  for  the  police." 

"  Go,  I  tell  you  !"  Lloyd  waved  his  hand  to  the 
bar-keeper. 

"  I  say  don't !"  cried  Jacobs,  in  a  tone  of  command. 
"Gentlemen" — and  he  appealed  to  the  company — 
"it's  a  shame!  We  know  what's  the  matter.  This 
poor  fellow  mustn't  go  to  the  lock-up.  He  might 
die.  He's  a  fellow-creature,  and  not  a  dog  to  let 
perish  in  the  gutter." 

This  had  the  desired  effect.  The  company  were 
unanimously  against  Lloyd,  and  the  police  were  not 
sent  for. 

A  second  glass  of  brandy  was  given,  but  it  did 
not  do  the  work.  Glenn's  unstrung  nerves  would 
not  respond  and  tighten  their  loosened  fibres.  Hor 
rible  things,  great  and  small,  filled  the  air  around 
him,  crept  into  his  bosom,  twined  about  his  neck, 
grinned  in  his  face,  crawled  over  his  hands,  stretched 
great  claws  to  seize  him,  swooped  down  upon  him 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  195 

from  wall  and  ceiling,  sprung  upon  him  from  the 
floor.  It  was  an  awful  scene.  The  poor  man's 
cries  of  horror  and  calls  for  help  and  looks  of  deep 
est  terror  made  the  flesh  creep.  Even  the  rough, 
unfeeling  men  who  had  laughed  at  first,  grew  sober 
and  silent. 

We  got  him  up  stairs,  so  as  to  relieve  the  bar 
room  of  his  presence,  and  there  we  worked  with 
him  for  hours  before  exhausted  nature  retired  from 
the  struggle. 

I  noticed,  as  they  were  taking  him  out  of  the  bar 
room,  the  pale,  frightened  face  of  a  boy  who  had 
retreated  near  the  door.  He  was  one  of  our  Sun 
day-evening  guests,  a  lad  from  the  bindery  and  the 
only  son  of  a  widow.  He  had  been  losing  ground 
pretty  fast  of  late.  I  could  see  the  love  of  liquor 
growing  on  him  steadily.  He  did  not  seem  to  care 
for  it  at  first.  Other  lads  in  the  bindery  had  told 
him  of  the  nice  evenings  they  spent  at  "  The  Re 
treat,"  and  so  he  had  been  enticed  to  come.  He  was 
social,  and  liked  games.  There  were  dominoes,  cards, 
checkers,  backgammon  and  bagatelle  and  boys  he 
knew — quite  enough  to  lure  him,  and  more  than 
enough,  when  the  taste  for  drink  was  formed,  to  hold 
him  upon  our  enchanted  ground.  But  this  taste  for 
liquor  grew,  and  of  late  I  had  often  seen  him  too 
much  under  its  influence. 

I  gathered  from  what  journeymen  said  to  him 
occasionally  that  he  was  not  doing  as  well  in  the 
bindery  as  he  should. 


196  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Now  and  then  he  would  slip  away  from  his  work 
in  the  daytime,  and  come  in  .to  have  a  little  rest 
and  play  at  backgammon  or  bagatelle  with  some 
other  boys,  idlers  like  himself. 

"  You  here !"  I  had  often  heard  a  journeyman  say 
to  him  in  reproof.  "  You'd  better  be  at  your  work. 
You'll  have  Ashley  down  on  you." 

"  Not  afraid  of  Ashley,"  he  would  answer,  jauntily, 
or,  "  Look  out  for  Ashley  yourself." 

He  had  learned  to  swear  as  well  as  drink,  and 
could  talk  dirty  talk  as  freely  as  any  one.  His  face 
had  changed  noticeably.  It  was  coarser  and  more 
sensual,  and  the  boyish  innocence  had  gone  out  of 
his  eyes. 

As  Glenn  was  taken  struggling  and  crying  from 
the  room,  I  saw  this  boy's  pale  face  vanish  through 
the  door.  He  never  came  back  again.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  seen  or  heard  of  the  drunkard's 
strange,  appalling  delirium — a  delirium  of  which 
every  one  who  drinks  steadily  and  freely  is  in 
danger — and  it  so  rilled  him  with  dread  and  horror 
that  he  turned  his  steps  out  of  the  way  he  had  en 
tered,  and  never  went  back  into  it,  so  far  as  I  know, 
again. 

Poor  Glenn  had  been  running  down  fearfully  of 
late.  He  had  drank  until  appetite  for  food  was  nearly 
gone,  and  kept  himself  up  almost  entirely  by  stimu 
lants.  There  always  comes  an  end  to  a  state  of 
things  like  this.  Stimulants  cannot  take  the  place 
of  food.  They  excite,  but  do  not  give  nutrition — they 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  197 

diminish  waste,  but  cannot  build  up.  In  the  end,  if 
too  much  relied  on,  they  fail.  The  time  comes  when 
reaction  ceases — when  the  bow  will  not  pull  against 
the  string.  Then  follows  the  struggle  for  life. 

In  such  a  struggle  this  young  man  found  himself. 
It  was  a  death-struggle  indeed.  A  doctor  was  with 
him  all  night,  and  it  was  only  by  the  greatest  care 
that  he  was  saved.  If  he  had  been  given  over  to  the 
police  and  taken  to  a  cell  in  the  station-house,  he 
would  have  died  there.  I  said  so  to  Lloyd  on  the 
next  day,  and  he  answered  gruffly, 

"  It  would  have  been  the  best  thing  for  him.  When 
a  man  gets  as  far  gone  as  he  is,  he  ought  to  die." 

I  was  hard  enough  and  indifferent  enough,  but 
not  so  brutal  as  this. 

"  If  he  were  your  son,"  I  replied,  with  the  covert 
contempt  I  felt  for  him  at  that  moment  trembling  in 
my  voice,  "  you  might  have  something  else  to  say." 

"  I'd  rather  see  a  son  of  mine  dead  than  ever  come 
to  that,"  he  said,  dropping  his  high  manner,  and  with 
a  change  of  tone  I  did  not  fail  to  notice.  I  had 
meant  to  touch  him  in  a  tender  spot,  and  was  suc 
cessful. 

It  was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following 
Glenn's  attack  of  delirium  tremens  that  he  was  in  a 
condition  to  be  taken  away  by  his  friends.  His 
presence  in  the  house  annoyed  us  very  much.  We 
didn't  propose  to  keep  a  hospital,  much  less  for 
diseases  of  this  kind.  It  was  our  business  to  make 
men  sick,  not  to  nurse  and  cure  them.  Other  people 
17* 


198  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

might  do  that  if  they  had  a  fancy  for  it,  but  it 
wasn't  in  our  line. 

I  noticed  that  a  number  of  our  regular  drinkers 
tried  to  taper  off  after  this.  The  ten-glass-a-day 
men  cut  down  to  six  or  eight,  and  the  six-glass  men 
to  four  or  five.  But  it  didn't  last.  After  a  few  days 
they  went  at  it  as  of  old,  and  rather  increased  than 
diminished  the  supply.  This  is  the  usual  result 
when  a  steady  drinker  sets  himself  to  cutting  down. 
The  system  has  adjusted  itself  to  a  certain  amount 
of  stimulant  every  day,  and  if  it  gets  that,  is  gener 
ally  satisfied,  though  in  the  long  run  this  amount  is 
imperceptibly  increased.  But  the  moment  you  begin 
to  cut  down,  a  want  is  felt.  The  whole  system  is  dis 
turbed.  The  man  feels  restless  and  out  of  sorts  all 
over.  Food  does  not  supply  his  want :  it  is  the 
lost  stimulant  he  craves ;  and  so  in  a  little  while  he 
goes  back  to  the  old  number  of  daily  drinks,  but 
now  these  do  not  satisfy  him  as  of  old.  Restriction 
has  made  desire  restless  and  clamorous.  He  has  to 
make  up  for  what  has  been  lost,  and  in  the  making 
up  appetite  gains  a  new  strength  and  persists  in  a 
new  demand. 

So,  as  I  said,  the  tapering  off  did  not  last.  But 
there  were  two  or  three  besides  the  boy  whose 
frightened  face  I  noticed  on  the  Sunday  night  Glenn 
had  his  tussle  with  the  demons  who  did  not  visit  us 
again.  They  were  occasional  customers,  dropping 
in  for  beer  or  ale  now  and  then — young  men  in  good 
places  and  getting  along  all  right,  but  who  had  noth- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  IQ9 

ing  special  to  do  in  the  evening.  They  had  heard,  no 
doubt,  of  delirium  tremens,  but,  I  take  it,  had  never 
seen  a  case  before.  A  single  exhibition  of  that  dis 
ease,  and  in  the  desperate  type  they  happened  to 
witness,  was  quite  enough  for  them.  One  of  them 
was  heard  to  say, 

"  If  the  road  to  that  country  lies  through  a  tavern, 
I'm  going  some  other  way.  Don't  like  the  inhabit 
ants." 

This  was  told  in  the  bar-room  one  day,  and  caused 
a  laugh  all  round,  but  some,  I  think,  felt  sober  while 
they  laughed. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THINGS  were  dull  one  evening.  A  good  many 
came  in  and  lounged  about,  but  not  being  of 
the  thirsty  kind,  were  satisfied  with  cigars  and  a  chat 
with  acquaintances.  They  had  come  more  for  com 
pany  than  for  drink.  I  sat  behind  the  bar  pretend 
ing  to  read  a  newspaper,  but  really  waiting  for  the 
call  I  expected  each  moment,  and  beginning  to  feel 
rather  cross. 

A  young  man,  clerk  in  a  wholesale  store  on  Mar 
ket  street,  dropped  in  about  nine  o'clock,  and  looked 
through  the  room  as  if  searching  for  somebody. 

"  Oh,  you're  here  !  I  thought  I  should  find  you," 
he  said  to  a  couple  of  young  men  who  were  sitting 
at  a  table  talking. 

They  made  room,  and  as  he  sat  down  one  of  them 
said, 

"  Aren't  you  out  of  your  latitude,  Bland  ?" 

"A  little,"  he  replied,  a  pleasant  smile  breaking 
over  his  handsome  face,  that  was  as  free  a  face  as 
ever  was  from  sign  of  dissipation.  "  You  see,  I  was 
kept  late  at  the  store  this  evening,  and  thrown  a  lit 
tle  out.  It  was  too  early  to  go  home  and  too  late  to 
get  myself  up  for  a  call  on  the  ladies.  So,  as  I  was 
200 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  201 

feeling  dull  and  lonesome,  like,  I  thought  I'd  look  in 
here,  and  maybe  I'd  find  somebody  I  knew  and  kill 
a  little  time." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  was  the  cordial  reply,  and 
then  the  three  young  men  put  their  heads  together 
and  had  a  good  talk,  sometimes  speaking  low  and 
confidentially,  and  sometimes  laughing  merrily.  They 
had  enough  of  interest  to  converse  about  to  keep 
them  excited,  and  did  not  feel  the  want  of  any  other 
stimulant. 

I  waited  and  waited,  expecting  every  moment  to 
hear  one  of  them  say, 

"  Come,  let's  have  a  drink." 

But  they  kept  on  talking  and  laughing  until  I 
could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  knew  a  way  to  fetch 
them,  but  it  would  cost  four  drinks,  and  I  held  off. 
At  last,  as  there  seemed  no  prospect  of  their  getting 
through,  I  said, 

"  Rather  dry  work,  gentlemen.  Come,  drink  with 
me ;"  and  I  set  down  four  glasses.  I  saw  a  shade 
creep  over  young  Eland's  face  as  he  arose  from  the 
table  with  his  companions,  who  responded  without 
hesitation.  He  had  not  come  to  drink.  But  there 
was  no  get  off  for  him,  and  so  he  took  a  glass  of  ale. 

The  young  men  resumed  their  places  and  talked 
on  for  a  while  longer.  At  last  Bland  said,  rising  as 
he  spoke, 

"  I  shall  have  to  bid  you  good-evening,  boys." 

"  Not  till  we  have  another  drink,"  returned  one  of 
his  friends.  "  Come,  drink  with  me." 


2O2  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

I  was  waiting  for  that  They  couldn't  drink  at 
my  expense  without  following  suit  at  their  own.  So 
they  ranged  themselves  at  the  bar  and  drank  again. 
Two  glasses  were  pretty  heavy  for  Bland,  who  was 
not  used  to  much  liquor.  They  sat  down  and  talked 
on  for  a  while  longer.  Bland  made  a  second  move 
to  go,  but  the  other  friend  said, 

"  No,  not  till  you  drink  with  me." 

I  knew  how  it  would  work.  It  was  an  old  dodge, 
and  rarely  failed.  A  bait  of  three  or  four  glasses 
often  gave  us  the  profit  on  a  dozen  or  twenty. 

So  up  they  came  again  and  drank.  It  was  stretch 
ing  things  for  young  Bland.  I  could  see  the  color 
rising  in  his  face,  and  his  eyes  getting  shiny.  When 
he  spoke,  his  voice,  which  was  clear  and  full  on 
every  word  when  he  first  came  in,  sounded  thick. 

They  were  noisier  when  they  sat  down  for  the 
third  time,  and  one  of  them  sang  a  song.  After  a 
while,  Bland  started  up,  saying, 

"I  must  be  off.  Come,  let's  have  another  drink 
before  I  go."  He  had  to  treat,  of  course.  His  steps 
were  unsteady  as  he  walked  up  to  the  bar.  Three 
glasses  more — four  apiece  in  all.  It  was  too  much 
for  one  whose  head  was  hardly  good  enough  for  a 
single  full  tumbler  of  strong  ale. 

I  saw  him  lurch  against  the  door  as  he  went  out 
alone  soon  after. 

"  Got  more  aboard  than  he  can  carry,  I'm  afraid," 
said  one  of  his  friends. 

"Isn't  used  to  it,"  remarked  the  other.      "Will 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  203 

have  a  glorious  headache  to-morrow  morning,  I 
fancy." 

He  had  worse  than  a  headache,  poor  fellow ! 
Morning  found  him  in  a  station-house,  minus  watch 
and  pocket-book,  and  with  a  pair  of  black  eyes. 
How  he  came  there,  or  who  had  beaten  and  robbed 
him,  he  knew  not.  All  was  a  blank  from  the  time 
he  went  out  of  our  saloon  until  he  found  himself  in 
the  station-house  and  awoke  to  a  sense  of  wretch 
edness  and  humiliation  it  would  be  hard  to  de 
scribe. 

Bland  was  sensitive  and  proud,  and  felt  the  dis 
grace  into  which  he  had  fallen  most  keenly.  He 
could  not  go  to  the  store  in  which  he  was  employed 
with  a  pair  of  black  eyes.  So  he  feigned  sickness. 
But  that  wouldn't  save  him.  The  truth  had  to  come 
out.  It  was  told  of  him  to  his  employers  that  he 
had  been  on  a  drunken  spree  and  got  his  eyes  black 
ened,  and  as  the  leading  man  in  the  firm  was  a  little 
over-righteous,  and  consequently  very  hard  and  un 
forgiving  toward  wrong-doers,  he  was  discharged 
without  pity. 

I  heard  it  talked  over  in  the  bar-room,  some  blam 
ing  and  some  excusing  the  act.  One  said, 

"  A  case  like  this  should  have  the  kindest  consid 
eration.  The  young  man  was  taken  unawares.  He 
wasn't  used  to  liquor.  Any  one  is  liable  to  be 
caught  in  this  way." 

And  another  answered, 

"They  have  to  mark  these  things  with  a  black 


204  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

cross  as  a  warning.  Dissipation  among  clerks  is 
getting  to  be  a  serious  evil.  Business  is  hurt  and 
hindered  by  it  in  more  ways  than  outside  people 
imagine.  I  know  a  house  that  won't  have  a  man  in 
it  who  drinks  a  drop." 

"  Things  get  hitched  with  them,  I  fancy,  now  and 
then,"  was  replied  to  this. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  All  goes  on  like  clock-work. 
Sober  heads  are  generally  clear  heads.  The  buyer 
makes  no  blunders  in  buying  and  the  seller  none  in 
selling.  I  don't  blame  a  house  that  insists  on  having 
strictly  temperate  clerks.  I'd  do  the  same  myself 
if  I  were  in  business." 

"  I'm  afraid  your  example  would  be  against  you," 
said  the  other,  laughing. 

"  When  I  go  into  business  I'll  swear  off,"  was  an 
swered.  "  Men  can't  drink  and  prosper  in  business — 
your  common  run  of  men,  I  mean.  There  are  ex 
ceptions,  of  course,  but  they  only  prove  the  rule. 
Drinking  is  against  prosperity.  It  muddles  the 
brain,  and  so  confuses  the  judgment.  One-half  the 
mistakes  that  are  made  in  business  could  be  traced,  I 
doubt  not,  to  a  glass  of  wine  or  beer  or  spirits  taken 
just  at  the  wrong  time. 

"There's  Peter  Stang:  you  all  remember  when 
he  was  at  the  top.  A  shrewder  business-man  was 
not  to  be  found  on  the  street  ten  years  ago.  He 
knew  just  when  to  buy  and  how  to  buy — had  the 
market  at  his  finger-ends — rarely  if  ever  made  a 
mistake.  I  know  plenty  of  men  who  used  to  watch 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  205 

him  like  a  hawk   and  take   his   judgment   against 
their  own  in  almost  everything. 

"  He's  only  a  clerk  to-day.  Why?  He  lost  his 
clear  head.  How  ?  Got  too  fond  of  wine.  Used 
only  to  take  it  for  dinner,  when  the  best  part  of  his 
business-day  was  over.  In  the  morning  his 'brain 
was  as  clear  as  light.  But  wine  got  ahead  of  him. 
The  single  glass  of  sherry  was  not  enough.  It  took 
two  glasses  to  meet  the  growing  demand,  then 
three,  and  at  last — I  don't  know  how  many.  He 
came  to  be  a  little  unsteady  in  the  morning — nerves 
not  toned  up.  A  glass  of  wine  tightened  them,  so 
he  took  his  morning  glass,  and  then  his  forenoon 
glass.  And  thus  he  lost  his  clear  head,  and  began 
to  make  blunders,  and  he  kept  on  making  them  un 
til  he  went  under. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it  ?  Well,  you  needn't.  It's 
a  free  country,  and  men  can  believe  as  little  or  as 
much  as  they  please,  but  if  you  are  in  business, 
I'd  advise  you  to  steer  clear  of  liquor  during  busi 
ness-hours." 

"  Just  as  true  as  preaching,"  spoke  out  a  man  who 
had  been  listening  to  the  conversation.  I  knew  him 
very  well.  He  had  once  been  in  a  good  trade,  but 
failed  a  few  years  back,  and  was  now  loafing  around, 
living  on  his  wife's  income,  which  was  small.  He 
was  a  pretty  hard  drinker. 

"  Just  as  true  as  preaching,"  he  said,  striking  his 
hand  upon  his  knee.  "  I  could  tell  you  a  story  to 
the  point  if  I  chose." 

18 


2o6  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Let's  have  the  story/'  urged  two  or  three,  gath 
ering  about  him. 

He  dropped  his  eyes,  and  sat  a  few  moments  with 
a  serious  air. 

"  Come,  let's  have  some  liquor  first,"  said  one  of 
the  company;  "what'll  you  take  ?  and  you,  and  you, 
and  you  ?"  glancing  from  face  to  face.  Haifa  dozen 
came  promptly  to  the  bar,  each  giving  his  order,  and 
quite  willing  to  drink  at  another's  expense. 

"  Now  for  the  story ;"  and  all  drew  around  the 
broken-down  merchant. 

"  It  isn't  a  story  I  like  to  tell,"  he  began,  with  a 
little  roughness  in  his  throat.  "  I'd  rather  forget 
than  remember  it.  Brings  too  many  things  back." 

"  It  won't  do,  Tom,"  said  I,  "  to  let  him  sail  off 
on  this  tack.  He'll  give  'em  a  regular-built  tem 
perance  lecture  before  he's  through.  We  must 
choke  him  down  in  some  way." 

"  How'll  we  do  it  ?"  asked  Lloyd. 

"  Can't  we  get  'em  at  cards  ?"  I  suggested. 

"  They'll  suspect  us  if  we  try  that.  No,  it  must  be 
something  else,  and  we  must  do  it  quick.  Gentle 
men,"  he  called.  All  the  company  looked  toward 
the  bar.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  Tom  Lloyd,  putting  on 
his  best  smile  and  taking  down  a  bottle,  "  we  got 
in,  to-day,  a  few  bottles  of  Jersey  apple-jack  ten  years 
old.  Came  out  of  the  cellar  of  a  farmer  who  died 
last  week,  and  is  the  nicest  thing  of  the  kind  that's 
going.  I  want  you  to  taste  it  and  give  me  your 
opinion." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  207 

There  wasn't  a  word  of  truth  in  all  this.  He  held 
in  his  hand  a  bottle  of  the  commonest  kind  of  apple 
whisky,  well  charged  with  fusil  oil. 

There  was  an  instant  uprising  of  the  company  and 
movement  toward  the  bar.  All  drank,  and  all  said 
it  was  prime. 

"And  now,  Andy" — Lloyd  spoke  to  a  short,  rather 
stout  young  man  who  stood  at  the  bar — "  it's  your 
turn  to  treat."  Andy  looked  a  little  disconcerted,  for 
he  wasn't  usually  flush  with  money.  But  Lloyd 
quickly  set  him  at  ease  by  adding, 

"  The  company  to  a  song." 

Singing  was  one  of  Andy's  accomplishments.  He 
had  a  very  fine  tenor  voice,  clear  and  sweet,  and  often 
sang  for  our  amusement. 

"Yes,  a  song,  Andy!  A  song!"  and  one  and 
another  repeated  the  request. 

Andy  cleared  his  throat,  and  sang  one  song  after 
another,  as  it  was  called  for,  until  the  broken-down 
merchant  was  forgotten. 

We  had  often  to  resort  to  tactics  of  this  kind  to 
stave  off  disagreeable  things.  There  was  no  count 
ing  on  the  people  who  came  in.  A  man  half  tipsy 
is  a  very  uncertain  kind  of  a  customer.  You  are 
never  sure  of  him.  Some  grow  quarrelsome  as  soon 
as  they  get  down  a  few  glasses,  some  grow  merry 
and  talkative,  some  familiar  and  obtrusive,  and  some 
begin  to  tell  you  about  their  troubles.  A  sot  is  sure, 
in  imagination,  to  have  everybody  against  him.  This 
man  is  his  enemy  and  that  man  is  trying  to  do  him 


208  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

some  wrong,  and  when  liquor  sets  his  tongue  free, 
he  will  fill  your  ears  with  complaints.  It  isn't  his 
fault  that  he  is  going  to  ruin.  Oh  no.  It's  the  fault 
of  everybody  else.  He  has  no  chance  in  the  world. 
Everything  he  puts  his  hand  to  fails — everybody 
stands  ready  to  give  him  a  kick. 

And  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  lower  a  man 
gets,  the  less  he  is  cared  for  and  the  easier  it  is  to 
give  him  a  kick.  I  know  of  none  who  get  so  little 
consideration  as  the  poor  wretches  that  rum  has  de 
graded  lower  than  the  beasts.  They  are  rejected  by 
all  and  despised  by  all.  No  matter  how  abused  and 
wronged,  few,  if  any,  come  to  their  aid.  Coarse,  un 
feeling  brutes  in  human  form  sport  with  their  help 
lessness  and  infirmity,  children  taunt  and  torture 
them  in  the  streets,  and  when  the  station-house  or 
prison  closes  its  hard  doors  upon  them,  God  only 
knows  what  they  are  sometimes  doomed  to  suffer. 

The  men  whose  business  it  is  to  get  gain  by  de 
basing  them  are  usually  the  most  unpitying  of  all, 
the  crudest  of  all.  I  have  seen  things  done  that  it 
makes  me  sick  to  think  of. 

We  had  a  bar-keeper  for  a  few  months  whose  very 
delight  it  was  to  chafe  and  worry  and  play  practical 
jokes  on  men  who  got  drunk.  We  let  him  do  a 
great  many  things  that  we  hadn't  the  heart  to  do 
ourselves,  because  we  didn't  want  worn-down  sots 
about.  They  were  offensive  to  our  better  customers. 
Many  a  man  has  gone  home  from  our  saloon  with 
his  face  blacked,  or  his  nose  painted  red,  or  his  coat 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  209 

turned  wrong  side  out,  or  the  rim  of  his  hat  cut  half 
away,  or  with  a  piece  of  ice  down  the  back  of  his 
neck.  Any  mean  or  cruel  joke  that  a  devilish  in 
genuity  can  invent  may  be  played  off  on  the  poor 
wretch  who  ends  his  day's  debauch  by  falling 
asleep  in  a  tavern,  and  there  is  no  one  to  take  his 
part. 

I  knew  a  case  where  a  young  man  belonging  to  a 
respectable  family,  and  having  a  wife  and  two  little 
children,  had  his  face  shamefully  disfigured.  It  did 
not  happen  with  us,  though  our  bar-keeper  would 
have  done  it  without  hesitation.  This  young  man 
had  been  going  down,  down,  down,  for  a  year  or  two, 
until  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  His  wife 
had  left  him  and  gone  to  her  friends.  He  was  out 
of  a  place,  for  no  one  in  business  would  have  him. 

One  night  about  eleven  o'clock  he  was  found 
asleep  in  one  of  the  boxes  of  a  well-known  restau 
rant,  where  he  had  emptied  his  pockets  of  the  few 
small  coins  he  had  borrowed  from  some  old  ac 
quaintance  who  could  not  deny  him. 

"  Dead  beat !"  exclaimed  a  man  who  had  his  at 
tention  called  to  him. 

"  Dead  beat  it  is !"  responded  another,  with  a 
laugh.  Both  knew  him,  and  knew  from  what  a 
height  into  this  fearful  depth  he  had  fallen. 

"  I'm  going  to  label  him,"  said  a  bar-keeper,  and 
he  took  from  a  drawer  a  stick  of  caustic.  Three  or 
four  men  looked  on  without  a  word  of  remonstrance, 
and  saw  him  write  the  letters  D.  B.  on  the  young 

18*  0 


2io  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

man's  forehead.  He  was  then  turned  into  the  street 
with  the  red  brand  burnt  on  his  flesh. 

It  was  meant  as  a  bit  of  cruel  sport,  but  wrought 
the  young  man's  reformation.  When  he  looked  into 
a  glass  on  the  next  morning  to  see  what  gave  the 
strange  hot  tightness  to  his  forehead,  and  saw  D.  B. 
there  in  great  red  capitals,  he  was  so  shocked  and 
pained  and  humiliated  that  he  made  a  vow  never  to 
pass  through  the  door  of  a  tavern  again  so  long 
as  he  lived. 

As  far  as  I  know  to  the  contrary,  he  has  kept  his 
promise.  It  was  a  great  many  weeks  before  the  red 
letters  faded  away,  and  before  he  ventured  on  the 
street  again.  But  when  he  did  go  out,  he  went  earn 
estly  to  work  in  the  store  of  a  relative  who  w;ts 
moved  to  give  him  a  chance.  He  is  to-day  in  a  good 
business,  steady  and  prosperous,  with  his  family 
around  him. 

In  another  case  the  son  of  a  well-known  lawyer 
in  the  city  who  had  his  wine  for  dinner  and  served 
it  to  his  guests  fell  naturally  into  drinking  habits. 
At  twenty-one  he  was  a  very  fast  young  man.  At 
twenty-four  he  was  clear  out  of  his  depth,  a  sorrow 
and  a  shame  to  his  friends. 

He  came  into  our  place  one  bitter  cold  night  in 
winter,  tipsy  as  a  lord,  and  drank  with  a  couple  of 
cronies  who  were  with  him.  Afterward  they  tried 
to  get  him  away,  but  he  was  growing  very  stupid 
and  refused  to  go.  So  they  left  him.  He  got  a 
newspaper  after  he  was  alone  and  tried  to  read,  but 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  211 

soon  fell  asleep.  It  was  after  eleven  o'clock  when  he 
came,  and  it  was  getting  on  toward  twelve. 

"  You  must  get  that  fellow  out,  Bill,"  said  Lloyd 
to  our  bar-keeper. 

"All  right,"  answered  Bill,  who  went  over  to 
where  the  young  man  sat  asleep  in  his  chair.  His 
head  had  fallen  back  and  his  mouth  was  wide  open. 
His  young,  almost  boyish,  face,  marred  so  sadly  by 
dissipation,  had  a  sad  and  suffering  expression.  None 
but  the  hardened  or  cruel  could  look  upon  it  with 
out  pity. 

"  Time  to  go !"  said  Bill,  giving  him  a  rough 
shake. 

But  he  might  almost  as  well  have  tried  to  arouse 
the  dead.  He  was  sleeping  the  drunkard's  heavy 
sleep. 

Then  with  his  huge  hand  he  gripped  the  back  of 
his  neck  and  lifted  him  by  main  strength. 

" Stand  up,  sir!  There,  now!"  and  Bill  tried  to 
steady  him  on  his  feet.  But  the  nerveless  limbs 
gave  way,  and  the  sleeper  fell  heavily  on  the  floor, 
striking  the  back  of  his  head  against  the  leg  of  a 
table. 

No  one  interfered  or  offered  any  remonstrance. 

"  I'll  fetch  him,"  said  Bill,  with  the  lively  interest 
of  one  engaged  in  some  favorite  sport.  We  always 
had  hot  water  on  the  stove  ready  for  making  punches. 
He  filled  a  pint  measure  half  full  of  this,  and  put  in 
enough  cold  water  to  keep  it  from  scalding.  Then 
he  opened  the  shirt  bosom  of  the  poor  wretch  and 


212  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

poured  in  the  warm  water,  pushing  the  vessel  first  to 
this  side  and  then  to  that,  so  that  the  water  would 
go  all  around  his  body. 

Even  this  did  not  wake  him.  Bill  stood  him  up, 
and  I  saw  the  water,  which  had  run  down  both  legs, 
coming  out  over  his  boots  upon  the  floor.  His 
stockings  were  saturated.  But  I  said  nothing,  and 
made  no  movement  to  prevent  the  outrage.  Lloyd 
swore  impatiently,  not  at  the  bar-keeper,  but  at  his 
unconscious  victim. 

"  Got  to  come  !"  Bill  now  exclaimed.  He  was 
getting  angry.  A  castor  used  at  lunch  time  stood 
on  the  bar.  From  this  he  took  a  box  of  red  pepper, 
and  before  a  word  could  be  said  threw  a  portion  oi 
the  contents  up  the  young  man's  nose. 

"  Ha !  ha !  Knew  that  would  bring  him  !"  laughed 
the  brute  as  the  sleeper  started  up  wildly  and  strug 
gled  to  his  feet,  stung  by  sudden  pain  into  wakeful- 
ness  and  partial  sobriety. 

"Travel,  sir!"  was  the  greeting  that  fell  on  his 
rum-stopped  ears,  and  ere  he  was  conscious  of  where 
he  was  a  strong  hand  on  the  back  of  his  neck  had 
thrust  him  toward  the  door  and  out  into  the  freezing 
night. 

Think  of  his  condition !  A  pint  of  warm  water 
had  just  been  poured  into  his  bosom,  and  it  had  sat 
urated  his  clothes  to  the  skin  and  down  to  his  feet. 
It  was  a  bitter  cold  night — one  of  the  coldest  of  the 
season.  He  could  not  have  been  out  in  the  street  a 
minute  before  its  icy  touch  was  upon  him,  nor  ten 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  213 

minutes  before  his  wet  garments  were  stiff  about 
him — frozen,  it  might  be,  to  his  very  flesh. 

"  Had  to  go  when  I  took  him  in  hand,"  chuckled 
Bill  as  he  returned  behind  the  bar.  But  no  one 
answered  him  or  echoed  his  laugh.  Now  that  the 
thing  was  done  we  all  felt,  I  think,  that  it  had  been 
overdone. 

How  the  poor  fellow  got  home,  or  what  his  con 
dition  was  when  he  arrived  there,  I  never  heard.  He 
did  not  visit  us  again.  But  a  pistol-ball  in  Bill's  el 
bow  one  dark  night  not  long  afterward,  fired  by  an 
unknown  hand,  followed  by  erysipelas  and  amputa 
tion,  was  suggestive  of  revenge. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MAGGY  LLOYD  went  back  to  her  work 
among  the  poor ;  she  also  took  her  place  in 
the  Sunday-school,  and  through  her  influence  and 
that  of  her  mother  kept  her  two  younger  brothers 
there  for  a  few  months  longer. 

But  there  was  not  a  child  in  the  class  to  which 
Harvey  and  Willy  were  attached  who  did  not  know 
that  their  father  kept  a  bar,  and  that  it  was  open 
every  Sunday,  and  scarcely  a  Sunday  went  by  that 
one  and  another  did  not  throw  it  into  their  teeth. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  they  rebelled  against  go 
ing  to  school,  nor  that  their  father,  when  they  told 
him  how  they  were  taunted  and  picked  upon  all  the 
while,  set  his  foot  down  at  last  and  said  they  should 
not  attend  any  longer. 

His  will  in  this  case  ruled,  of  course.  Harvey 
and  Willy  refused  to  go  to  Sunday-school,  and  the 
mother  could  not  force  them  when  the  father  said 
"  No." 

Poor  Maggy !  It  was  another  stone  taken  out  of 
the  foundation  of  her  life.  She  loved  these  little 
boys  with  a  love  made  doubly  sensitive  by  the  un 
happy  condition  by  which  they  were  surrounded, 
and  by  the  unusual  perils  that  lay  in  their  future. 

214 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  215 

She  had  hoped  much  from  the  good  influences  and 
associations  of  the  Sunday-school  in  giving  their 
young  minds  a  love  for  things  pure  and  pious,  but 
this  hope  was  swept  clean  away. 

Another  stunning  blow  came  soon  after.  She  had 
missed  a  dear  little  girl  from  her  class  for  two  Sun 
days,  and  on  asking  if  any  one  knew  whether  she 
were  sick  or  not,  a  scholar  said, 

"  No,  ma'am,  she  isn't  sick." 

"  Do  you  know  why  she  stays  away  ?"  asked 
Maggy. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  she  told  me,"  answered  the  scholar. 

"  What  is  the  reason  ?"  inquired  Maggy. 

"  Don't  like  to  tell,"  returned  the  child. 

Maggy's  heart  stood  still  for  a  moment.  It  di 
vined  the  reason.  She  did  not  press  the  child  for 
an  answer  before  the  class,  but  after  school  took  her 
hand  as  they  were  going  away,  and  drawing  her 
aside,  said, 

"You'll  tell  me  now  why  Mary  Lingen  doesn't 
come  to  school  ?" 

"  It's  because — because,"  was  answered,  "  her  mo 
ther  says  no  rum-seller's  daughter  shall  teach  hei 
child  in  Sunday-school." 

When  Lloyd  next  saw  Maggy,  she  was  lying  still 
as  death  with  her  white  face  to  the  wall. 

I  knew  something  had  gone  wrong  again  at  home 
by  the  dark  clouding  of  his  face,  by  his  restlessness 
and  irritability,  and  by  the  unusual  freedom  with 
which  he  drink.  What  it  really  was  I  did  not  know 


216  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

until  some  time  afterward,  and  then  such  a  tirade 
against  churches,  ministers  and  religious  people 
generally  as  he  indulged  in  one  rarely  hears.  He 
wished  there  wasn't  a  church  in  the  world,  and  as  for 
ministers,  they  were  all  a  set  of  hypocrites  who 
swindled  the  people  out  of  money  under  false  pre 
tences,  and  if  he  had  his  way  of  them,  he'd  hang 
one  half  and  banish  the  rest  from  the  country. 

Maggy  struggled  up  again,  weaker,  sadder,  paler, 
than  before,  and  went  out  to  do  her  work  among  the 
poor,  many  of  whom  had  sadly  missed  her  help 
ing  hand,  her  comforting  words  and  the  religious 
strength  she  sought  to  give  them.  She  kept  on  for 
a  few  months  longer,  and  then  the  end  came.  It  was 
a  sad  and  sorrowful  end,  and  every  time  I  think  of 
it  a  dull  ache  goes  through  my  heart. 

She  had  struggled  up  again,  as  I  have  said,  and 
gone  out  to  her  work  among  the  poor,  giving  her 
life  for  the  good  of  others.  One  stormy  day  in  win 
ter  a  woman  called  late  in  the  afternoon  and  asked 
to  see  her.  She  was  poorly  dressed,  her  face  was 
thin  and  worn  and  marked  with  sorrow  and  suffer 
ing.  The  snow  was  white  on  her  thin  dress  and  lay 
melting  in  her  hair  as  Maggy  met  her  in  the  parlor, 
where  she  had  been  shown  by  a  servant. 

"  Miss  Lloyd  ?"  the  woman  queried  as  Maggy 
advanced  toward  her. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  Maggy  replied. 

"  I've  heard,"  said  the  woman,  "  that  you  are  kind 
and  tender-hearted,  and  so  I  have  come.  I  don't 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  217 

want  to  trouble  you,  but  I  am  heart-broken  and  in 
despair.  It  is  all  nice  and  elegant  here  " — the  wo 
man  cast  her  eyes  about  the  room — "  but  I  have  noth 
ing  left  —  no  carpet  on  my  floor,  no  comfortable 
chairs  to  sit  in,  no  warm  beds  for  my  children, 
scarcely  food  to  eat,  and  yet  there  was  a  time 
when  I  had  all  these ;"  and  again  she  threw  her 
eyes  almost  desperately  about  the  room. 

"  I    once   had   a   sober,   good   husband,"  she  re 
sumed,  "  and  our  children  had  a  kind  father." 

Poor  Maggy  began  to  tremble.  She  sat  down 
from  sheer  weakness.  The  woman  sat  down  also. 

"  Maybe  it  isn't  right  to  come  to  you,"  the  woman 
said,  looking  into  the  pale,  shocked  face  of  the  girl, 
and  comprehending  something  of  her  feelings. 
"  Tisn't  any  fault  of  yours — I  know  that — but  I 
thought  if  you'd  speak  to  him  about  it,  he  wouldn't 
take  my  husband's  money  for  liquor.  Oh,  if  you'd 
just  speak  to  him !  My  husband's  name  is  Gordon. 
Tell  your  father  that  he  spends  everything  for  drink, 
and  that  we  are  starving." 

Mrs.  Lloyd,  who  had  followed  Maggy  down  stairs, 
was  standing  in  the  entry  near  the  parlor  door  and 
heard  all  this.  Knowing  her  child's  weak  condition, 
and  fearing  some  ill  effect,  she  came  into  the  room. 
As  soon  as  Maggy  saw  her  mother  she  got  up  and 
staggered  toward  her,  laying  her  head  upon  her 
bosom  and  sobbing. 

"  Poor  thing !"  said  the  woman.  "  Maybe  I've  done 
wrong.  But  they  said  she  was  good,  and  might 

19 


218  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

have  influence  with  her  father.  Oh  dear !  Oh  dear ! 
It'.s  dreadful !  Everything  is  hurt ;"  and  she  went  on 
in  a  bewildered  way,  wringing  her  hands. 

Mrs.  Lloyd  drew  Maggy  out  of  the  room,  and  got 
her  up  stairs  to  her  chamber,  almost  carrying  her 
for  a  part  of  the  way.  It  was  the  old  story.  The 
white  face  turned  to  the  wall  again,  and  now  for  the 
last  time. 

When  Mrs.  Lloyd  went  back  to  the  parlor,  the 
woman  had  gone. 

As  night  closed  in,  the  storm  which  had  begun 
late  in  the  afternoon  increased  in  violence.  The 
wind  was  high  and  swept  the  snow  along  in  blinding 
gusts,  so  that  it  was  difficult  to  face  it  when  it  got 
an  open  sweep  or  was  driven  around  corners  or 
through  narrow  places  in  eddying  whirls. 

Maggy  did  not  stir,  nor  seem  to  heed  the  roar 
and  rush  and  sobbing  of  the  tempest.  Her  mother 
went  in  and  out  of  her  room  every  now  and  then, 
feeling  strangely  anxious.  The  shadow  of  some 
great  calamity  seemed  resting  on  her  soul.  She  felt 
the  dread  of  a  coming  evil. 

At  tea-time  she  sat  down  with  her  two  younger 
children.  Tom  had  not  been  home  since  morning, 
and  she  did  not  know  where  he  was.  After  she  had 
helped  the  children,  she  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea  and 
took  it  to  Maggy's  room.  Entering  softly,  she  bent 
over  the  bed  for  a  little  while,  but  Maggy  did  not  stir 
nor  in  any  way  recognize  her  mother's  presence.  Then 
Mrs.  Lloyd  spoke  to  her,  but  she  neither  answered 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  219 

nor  gave  any  sign.  She  bent  close  down  over  her, 
listening  for  the  sound  of  breathing ;  it  came  faint  and 
slow,  and  she  lifted  herself  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  If 
she  were  sleeping,  better  so. 

Half  an  hour  afterward  she  went  to  her  room 
again.  Maggy  was  sitting  up  in  bed  as  she  entered, 
and  looked  at  her  strangely.  There  was  something 
unusual  in  the  expression  of  her  face,  something 
wild  and  wandering. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  mother,"  she  said,  a  slight  tremor 
in  her  voice  as  if  she  had  been  alarmed. 

"  Yes,  dear,  it's  me.     Do  you  want  anything  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you ;"  and  then,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
she  dropped  back  upon  her  pillow  and  shut  her  eyes. 

How  pale  and  wasted  and  sad  she  looked !  The 
mother's  eyes  grew  blind  with  tears.  Mrs.  Lloyd 
put  the  two  younger  children  to  bed,  and  then  sat 
down  alone,  trying  to  do  some  mending.  The  storm 
swept  its  clouds  of  fine  hard  snow  fiercely  against 
the  windows  of  the  room  where  she  sat,  and  sobbed 
and  wailed  in  the  air,  causing  her  to  shudder  every 
now  and  then  with  a  kind  of  vague  terror.  Her  old 
est  boy,  where  was  he  to-night  ?  He  was  not  out  of 
her  troubled  thoughts  for  a  moment. 

It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  the  pressure  on  her 
feelings  became  so  great,  and  the  sense  of  loneliness 
so  deep,  that  she  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Putting 
aside  her  work-basket,  she  went  up  stairs,  intending 
to  sit  in  Maggy's  room  until  Tom  or  his  father  came 
home.  As  she  opened  the  door  and  went  in  softly 


22O  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

she  missed  her  daughter  from  the  bed.  She  glanced 
quickly  about  the  chamber,  but  she  was  not  there. 

"  Maggy !"  she  called,  passing  into  the  next  cham 
ber.  But  there  was  no  answer,  and  the  room  was 
empty. 

She  ran  hurriedly  from  one  room  to  another,  call 
ing  her  daughter's  name.  But  no  sound  of  voice 
nor  footstep  nor  rustle  of  garments  came  to  her 
ears. 

Half  wild  with  affright,  she  went  up  and  down 
and  over  the  house  from  attic  to  cellar,  but  without 
discovering  a  sign  of  Maggy.  The  servants  had  not 
seen  her,  though  one  of  them  said  she  was  sure  she 
had  heard  the  front  door  shut  softly  at  least  an  hour 
before. 

The  truth  dawned  slowly  on  the  mother's  mind. 
The  right  suggestion  came.  Maggy,  in  a  half-crazed 
state,  had  gone  out  on  that  dreadful  night  to  find 
her  way  to  the  saloon  and  beg  her  father  not  to  sell 
any  more  liquor  to  the  man  whose  despairing  wife  had 
called  that  evening  and  implored  her  help.  How 
long  had  she  been  away  ?  It  was  nearly  two  hours 
since  she  last  visited  Maggy's  room.  If  she  had 
been  gone  for  that  length  of  time,  there  was  small 
hope  of  her  ever  being  found  alive.  Word  would 
long  since  have  come  from  her  if  she  had  visited  the 
saloon.  Weak,  bewildered,  chilled  and  blinded  by 
the  storm,  the  chances  were  all  against  her.  So  the 
mother  thought  in  her  agony  and  fear. 

A  servant  was  sent  in  haste  to  the  saloon,  but  she 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  221 

had  not  been  twenty  minutes  on  her  way  when  Mrs. 
Lloyd  heard  the  rattle  of  her  husband's  key  in  the 
door. 

"  Is  Maggy  here  ?"  he  asked,  in  an  eager,  panting 
voice,  as  he  met  her  in  the  hall.  His  question  was 
answered  by  the  deathly  pallor  of  his  wife's  face". 
Her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  through  them. 

"When  did  she  go  out?" 

Mrs.  Lloyd  only  shook  her  head.  Terror  made 
her  dumb. 

"  How  long  has  she  been  gone?"  demanded  Lloyd, 
with  a  solemn  sternness  of  manner  that  roused  his 
wife. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  she  replied.  "  I  only  missed  her 
a  few  moments  ago." 

Like  one  beside  himself,  Lloyd  turned  from  his 
wife  and  rushed  from  the  house,  leaving  her  more 
frightened  and  in  a  state  of  wilder  uncertainty  than 
when  he  came  in.  Out  in  the  storm  she  went  after 
her  husband,  bare-headed  and  without  shawl  or  cloak, 
as  one  crazed,  calling  frantically  after  him.  But  he 
vanished  from  her  sight  in  the  darkness.  After  go 
ing  for  the  distance  of  a  block  she  came  back  with 
such  an  awful  pressure  on  her  heart  that  it  seemed 
as  if  she  should  die. 

19* 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IT  was  on  this  same  dreadful  night  that  I  took 
home  through  the  blinding  storm  Mr.  Ashley's 
drunken  son,  standing  him  against  his  father's  door, 
and  letting  him  fall  in  upon  the  vestibule  like  a  log, 
and  at  the  feet  of  his  mother. 

I  went  away  with  her  cry  of  pain  and  terror  in  my 
ears.  All  the  way  back,  as  I  waded  through  the 
snow  and  bent  to  the  storm,  which  threw  its  blinding 
missiles  in  my  face,  that  cry  seemed  coming  after 
me. 

I  had  heard  the  boy's  head  strike  the  floor  with  a 
heavy  jar — too  heavy,  I  feared,  not  to  occasion  serious 
injury.  A  feeling  of  anxiety  began  to  creep  into  my 
heart.  What  if  his  skull  had  been  cracked  or  his 
brain  hurt  ?  A  policeman  had  seen  him  in  my  hands, 
and  knew  that  I  was  taking  him  home.  If  he  should 
be  badly  hurt  and  die  in  consequence,  I  might  get 
into  a  serious  scrape.  I  did  not  think  of  his  moth 
er's  sorrow  and  suffering,  but  of  the  trouble  that 
might  come  to  me. 

The  snow  had  fallen  so  heavily  on  the  tracks  that 
no  cars  on  the  lines  leading  in  the  direction  I  wished 
.to  go  were  running,  so  I  had  to  return  as  I  went, 
walking  the  whole  distance.  It  took  full  half  an  hour. 

222 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  223 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  as  I  drew  near  the 
neighborhood  of  Harvey  street.  I  had  not  met  a 
single  person  by  the  way.  As  I  turned  from  one  of 
the  main  streets  into  the  narrower  one  leading  to 
that  in  which  our  "  Retreat "  was  hidden,  I  thought 
I  saw  something  unusual  on  the  pavement  close  be 
side  the  step  leading  up  to  a  doorway.  It  was  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  from  that  along  which  I 
had  come  after  having  taken  John  Ashley  home.  A 
lamp  dancing  in  the  wind  that  crept  in  by  the  small 
est  openings  threw  a  flickering,  weird  sort  of  light  on 
the  spot.  I  stood  still  as  if  from  an  impulse  not  my 
own.  For  a  moment  or  two  my  heart  ceased  to 
beat.  Strangely  into  the  outlines  of  a  human  form 
seemed  to  grow  the  snow-covered  object  which  had 
arrested  my  attention,  and  the  longer  I  looked  at  it, 
the  clearer  these  outlines  grew.  A  feeling  of  awe,  as 
when  one  stands  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  stole 
over  me.  Then  I  pushed  a  foot  carefully  into  the 
heap  of  snow,  and  touched  what  I  knew  on  the  in 
stant  to  be  a  human  body.  A  chill  ran  along  my 
nerves  and  down  into  my  heart. 

I  stooped  hurriedly,  thrusting  in  my  hand  where  I 
thought  the  head  and  breast  must  lie.  Catching 
hold  of  a  garment,  I  drew  it  upward.  The  snow  fell 
away,  and  I  looked  into  the  dead  face  of  Maggy 
Lloyd.  The  lamp  shone  down  upon  it,  making  every 
feature  distinct.  There  was  no  distortion,  no  mark 
of  pain,  but  a  restfulness  and  peace  I  have  no  words 
to  describe. 


224  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

It  was  only  half  a  block  from  "The  Retreat." 
How  long  she  had  been  lying  there  no  one  knew, 
but  it  must  have  been  for  nearly  two  hours,  the 
drifting  snow  having  completely  covered  her  over. 

I  took  the  frail  body  in  my  arms — how  light  it  felt ! 
— and  ran  to  the  saloon.  Lloyd  was  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor  as  I  entered,  having  just  come  in 
from  a  fruitless  search. 

A  blank  horror  whitened  his  face,  his  eyes  stood 
out,  his  hands  were  thrown  forward  in  a  convulsive 
motion.  I  laid  his  dead  child  tenderly  down.  He 
did  not  come  toward  her,  but  seemed  held  back  by 
a  spell  he  could  not  break.  I  saw  him  shiver. 

"  It's  all  over  with  her,  Tom,"  I  said,  in  a  choking 
voice.  "  God  help  us  !" 

I  saw  him  shiver  again.  He  tried  to  speak.  His 
face  was  working  terribly.  He  clutched  out  with  his 
hands  as  before.  At  last  a  cry  broke  from  his  lips — 
a  strong  sobbing  cry — and  he  covered  his  face  and 
sat  down,  trembling  violently.  It  was  for  me  to  act. 
Lloyd  was  utterly  unmanned.  The  thing  to  do  was 
to  get  the  dead  girl  home  as  quickly  as  possible,  so 
I  sent  for  a  carriage.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  get 
a  vehicle  of  any  kind  at  that  hour  and  on  such  a 
night,  and  it  was  nearly  half-past  twelve  before  a  car 
riage  came  to  the  door.  By  this  time  Lloyd  had 
gained  some  little  self-control.  His  grief  was  exces 
sive,  for  he  had  loved  this  child  with  a  tenderness 
his  vicious  life  and  habits  had  no  power  to  extin 
guish. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  225 

I  think,  from  some  sentences  wrung  from  him  by 
pain,  that  he  fully  comprehended  the  cause  of  all 
this  ruin.  It  seemed  a  fitting  conclusion  to  the  tragedy 
of  his  daughter's  life  that  her  dead  body  should  first 
be  taken  to  the  saloon  against  which  her  heart  had 
broken,  and  that  her  father  should  reap  there  from 
the  seed  he  had  sown  this  harvest  of  unspeakable 
woe. 

When  the  carriage  came  to  the  door,  I  lifted  the 
dead  body  again  and  bore  it  out,  Lloyd  following 
like  one  half  stupefied.  I  got  in,  still  holding  the 
body,  Lloyd  taking  his  place  on  the  opposite  seat. 
And  so  we  were  driven  to  his  home.  Such  a  ride ! 
All  the  way  Maggy's  cold  form  lay  in  my  arms,  her 
wet  hair  on  my  face  and  hands,  while  her  father  sat 
opposite,  silent  and  motionless  as  a  bit  of  marble.  I 
cannot,  as  memory  goes  back,  recall  that  ride  as  a 
real  life-experience,  but  rather  as  some  awful  dream. 

Mrs.  Lloyd  was  standing  at  the  window  when  we 
drove  up.  The  moment  she  saw  the  carriage  stop 
she  came  flying  out,  and  was  at  the  door  before  it 
had  been  thrown  open.  Lloyd  got  out  first. 

"  Have  you  found  Maggy  ?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice 
I  did  not  recognize,  it  was  so  changed. 

"  Yes,"  replied  her  husband.  And  his  voice  was 
as  unnatural  as  hers. 

"  Oh,  thank  God !"  broke  upon  the  mother's 
lips. 

How  it  chilled  me !  for  I  was  bearing  to  her  no 
relief  nor  comfort,  but  a  sorrow  that  might  break  her 

p 


226  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

heart.  She  stood  back  from  the  door  of  the  car 
riage  after  her  husband  got  out,  and  waited  for  Mag 
gy.  I  gathered  the  lifeless  form  closely  in  my  arms 
and  came  out  backward,  Lloyd  assisting  me.  Mrs. 
Lloyd  stood  close  up  to  the  carriage.  I  heard  a 
startled  "  Oh !"  as  she  saw  that  we  were  lifting  Mag 
gy  out  bodily.  A  moment  after  she  looked  on  the 
face  of  her  child,  and  then  two  insensible  forms 
were  borne  into  the  house,  one  in  Lloyd's  arms  and 
one  in  mine,  mother  and  daughter,  and  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  tell  from  their  faces  which  was 
living  and  which  was  dead. 

"  The  Retreat "  was  closed  for  the  next  three  days 
and  crape  hung  at  the  door.  A  tragedy  like  this 
could  not  be  kept  away  from  the  public.  The  family 
physician  said  that  he  could  not  give  a  certificate  for 
burial,  and  that  there  would  have  to  be  a  coroner's 
inquest.  It  was  in  vain  that  Lloyd  and  I  urged  every 
possible  argument  to  induce  him  to  give  a  certificate 
as  to  the  cause  of  her  death.  The  sorrow  was  deep 
enough,  without  adding  thereto  a  needless  public 
exposure.  But  he  could  not  be  moved.  There  was 
for  him  but  one  course,  he  said.  The  law  was  plain. 
When  a  body  was  found  dead  in  the  street,  a  coro 
ner's  jury  must  be  called,  and  the  cause  of  death  as 
certained  if  possible. 

So,  on  the  next  morning,  the  coroner  came  to  the 
house  with  twelve  jurors,  when  Lloyd  and  his  wife, 
their  children  and  servants,  myself  and  our  bar-keeper 
had  to  appear  and  answer  as  to  what  we  knew  touch- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  227 

ing  the  cause  of  Maggy's  death.  The  poor  mother 
fainted  during  the  ordeal.  The  verdict  was,  "  DEATH 
FROM  EXPOSURE." 

It  all  went  into  the  newspapers,  with  a  variety  of 
detail  and  comment.  In  one  case  it  was  more  than 
intimated  that  the  father  had  driven  his  child  mad 
by  cruel  treatment,  and  in  another,  things  worse  were 
hinted  at.  It  was  hard  that  one  so  pure  should  have 
the  taint  of  a  foul  suspicion  cast  on  her  name.  But 
it  is  accepted  almost  by  common  consent  that  where 
anything  evil  is  said  of  those  who  deal  in  liquor  it 
must  be  true.  Maggy,  saint,  angel,  as  we  knew  her 
to  be,  was  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  kept  a  drink- 
ing-saloon,  and  so  anything  wrong  or  vile  that 
might  be  spoken  of  her  would  be  accepted,  without 
question,  as  true. 

Happy  change  for  her!  Death  was  her  kindest 
friend*  No  evil  thought  or  word  could  pain  or  harm 
her  spirit.  But  for  many  hearts  the  world  was 
darker  and  sadder  for  her  absence. 

After  the  funeral  Lloyd  came  back  to  the  saloon. 
He  fortified  himself  for  meeting  his  customers  by 
drinking  freely.  I  had  been  fearful  that  a  trouble  so 
hard  to  bear  would  throw  him  off  of  his  balance,  and 
I  was  sorry  to  see  the  evidence  so  soon.  He  was 
very  quiet,  never  speaking  to  any  one  unless  ad 
dressed,  and  seeming  to  be  in  a  kind  of  dream  all 
the  while,  but  drinking  almost  double  his  usual 
quantity. 

After  a  few  weeks  his  reserve  began  to  wear  off, 


228  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

but  he  still  kept  on  drinking  freely.  Sometimes,  by 
evening,  the  effects  of  what  he  took  became  so 
marked  as  to  be  noticed  by  almost  every  one.  His 
affliction  did  not  soften  him,  but  rather  left  him 
harder  and  more  irritable.  If  anything  went  wrong, 
he  grew  angry,  and  at  times  almost  abusive. 

How  matters  were  going  on  at  home  after  Maggy's 
death  I  did  not  know.  I  asked  Lloyd  a  few  times 
about  his  wife,  but  the  question  worried  him,  I  could 
see,  and  as  he  did  not  give  satisfactory  replies,  I 
ceased  to  make  any  reference  to  his  family  what 
ever. 

One  night — it  was  three  months  after  Maggy 
Lloyd's  death  —  on  going  to  the  hotel  where  I 
boarded,  I  found  a  young  man  of  rather  rough 
appearance  waiting  to  see  me.  His  face  was  coarse 
and  sensual  and  bad  in  almost  every  line.  He  had 
been  drinking. 

"  There's  a  young  chap  at  the  station-house  that 
says  please  won't  you  come  down  and  see  him." 

He  said  this  in  a  half-rude,  half-hang-dog  kind  of 
a  way,  not  looking  me  in  the  eyes. 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  I  asked. 

"  His  name's  Tom  Lloyd,"  he  replied. 

"  Tom  Lloyd !  What's  he  doing  in  a  station- 
house?"  I  said,  in  surprise.  I  had  not  seen  him 
since  the  day  of  his  sister's  funeral. 

"  Got  nabbed  in  a  cock-pit.  Most  on  'em  got  off, 
but  he  was  slow,  and  so  they  gobbled  him.  It's  ten 
dollars  fine,  and  if  he  don't  pay  it,  he'll  be  sent  down 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  229 

below.  So  he  says  please  won't  you  come  and  see 
him." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  In  the street  station-house." 

This  was  nearly  two  miles  away,  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  city,  and  it  was  now  nearly  twelve  o'clock  at 
night. 

"Why  didn't  he  send  for  his  father?"  I  asked. 
"  It's  no  affair  of  mine." 

"  Guess  he's  afraid.  Mightn't  be  healthy,"  an 
swered  the  fellow,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Where  was  the  cock-pit  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  Back  of  Teddy  Ryan's." 

"  Where  is  Teddy  Ryan's  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  tip-tops  don't  know  Teddy !  Well, 
Teddy's  one  on  'em !  You  go  out  of  Craig  street, 
down  through  Little  Mary  street,  to  the  right.  Phil 
Moore's  saloon  is  at  the  corner ;  you'll  know  by  that 
just  where  to  turn  off.  He's  got  a  bully  big  gas 
light,  with  red  stars  on  blue  glass.  Half  way  down 
Little  Mary  street  you'll  see  a  door  with  a  round 
window  in  it.  That's  Teddy  Ryan's.  His  name's 
on  the  door.  It  doesn't  look  like  much  of  a  place, 
but  I  tell  you  lots  of  fellows  go  there  o'  nights, 
specially  when  they're  going  to  have  fightin'  in  the 

pit.- 

"  Boys  as  well  as  men  ?"  I  suggested. 

"  You  may  bet  on  that,"  he  answered,  laughing. 
"  Half  on  'em's  boys.  The  pit's  away  back.  You 
go  out  through  a  door  behind  the  bar,  and  down 
20 


230  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

cellar,  then  along  a  narrow  passage  and  up  into 
the  yard.  You  don't  see  anything  nor  anybody. 
The  pit  isn't  there.  But  if  you  know  the  ropes, 
you'll  just  tip  your  toe  against  a  little  gate  in  the 
fence,  and  open  it  comes.  Then  you  go  along  be 
tween  two  fences  until  you  come  to  another  gate. 
Push  it,  and  you'll  find  the  pit.  It's  been  there  for 
a  year,  and  the  police  never  came  down  on  it  afore 
to-night." 

"  How  many  were  nabbed  ?"  I  asked. 

"  'Bout  twenty,  and  a  good  many  more  got  off." 

"  Are  they  all  in  the  station-house  ?" 

"  No,  siree  !  Most  on  'em  put  up  their  double  V's 
or  got  somebody  else  to  do  it  for  them." 

"  The  fine's  ten  dollars  for  being  caught  in  a  cock 
pit  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  that's  the  damage.  But  I  guess  you'd 
better  look  after  this  chap,  if  you're  going  to." 

I  had  by  this  time  made  up  my  mind  as  to  what 
I  would  do  about  Tom.  I  could  not  get  over  my 
old  kind  feelings  for  the  boy,  and  pitied  him.  His 
father  was  not  to  be  trusted  in  a  case  like  this.  His 
dealing  would  be  so  hard  and  harsh  as  to  push  the 
poor  lad  farther  away  from  him  and  out  into  more 
perilous  depths. 

"  Very  well,"  I  said  "  I'll  look  after  him.  Thank 
you  for  taking  the  trouble  to  come  here  on  his 
account." 

"Better  go  to-night  and  have  it  all  settled,"  he 
urged.  "  He  may  be  sent  below  before  you  get 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  231 

round  in  the  morning.  Then  it  will  all  come  out  in 
the  papers,  and  that  wouldn't  be  healthy  for  Tom, 
you  know.  He's  a  nice  chap,  and  I  don't  want  to 
see  him  get  into  too  bad  a  mess." 

I  promised  to  go  that  night.  After  Tom's  mes 
senger  went  away,  I  got  a  carriage  and  drove  up  to 

the street  station-house,  and  had  Tom  released, 

after  paying  his  fine  of  ten  dollars. 

It  so  happened  that  I  knew  the  lieutenant  of  po 
lice  who  was  on  duty  at  the  station-house.  When 
I  asked  for  Thomas  Lloyd,  he  said,  a  little  curiously, 

"  Not  our  friend  Lloyd's  son  ?" 

"  Yes,"  I  replied. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a  meaning  way,  re 
marking,  "  He  ought  to  keep  his  boy  at  home." 

"  Easier  said  than  done,  I'm  afraid,"  I  returned. 

"Better  shoot  him  at  once  than  let  him  go  to 
school  in  a  cock-pit,"  said  the  lieutenant,  emphat 
ically. 

I  took  the  boy  home  with  me,  and  gave  him  a  bed 
for  the  night.  He  was  a  good  deal  cut  down  and 
frightened  by  the  arrest,  and  promised  that  he'd 
never  get  into  another  such  a  scrape. 

But  it  wasn't  two  months  before  a  second  haul 
was  made  on  Teddy  Ryan's  cock-pit,  and  Tom  was 
caught  again.  I  didn't  stand  between  him  and  his 
father  this  time,  not  thinking  it  best  to  do  so.  He 
sent  after  me,  as  before,  but  I  refused  to  go. 

On  the  morning  afterward,  in  looking  over  the  re 
port  of  police  cases,  I  saw  an  account  of  the  haul  at 


232  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Teddy  Ryan's,  which  was  spoken  of  as  one  of  the 
worst  dens  in  the  city.  Among  the  names  of  those 
who  had  been  arrested  was  that  of  Thomas  Lloyd. 
It  was  mentioned  that  he  with  several  others  had 
been  committed  to  prison  until  their  fine  was  paid. 
As  I  stood  with  the  paper  in  my  hands,  undecided 
whether  to  speak  to  Lloyd  about  it  or  let  him  dis 
cover  it  for  himself,  a  man  sitting  at  a  table  read 
ing  called  out, 

"Hallo,  Tom  Lloyd!  Is  this  your  boy  they've 
sent  down  below?" 

Lloyd  started  as  if  he'd  been  shot. 

The  man  then  read  aloud  an  account  of  the  arrests 
made  at  Teddy  Ryan's,  and  the  names  of  those  who 
had  been  sent  to  prison.  As  he  finished  reading  he 
looked  up  and  saw  Lloyd's  face. 

"  Why,  bless  me,  Tom  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Didn't 
for  a  moment  suppose  it  was  your  son.  Was  only 
jesting." 

Lloyd  did  not  answer,  but  I  saw  the  surprise  and 
trouble  in  his  face  give  way  slowly  to  an  angry  and 
cruel  expression.  He  stood  in  silent  debate  with 
himself,  his  countenance  growing  harder  and  harder. 

"  If  it  is  my  boy,"  he  said,  at  length,  with  an  oath 
that  made  me  start,  "  he's  got  to  lie  in  the  bed  he's 
made.  He'll  be  safer  down  there  than  in  a  cock- 

pit- 

While  he  was  speaking  a  man  came  in  and  handed 
me  a  note.  It  was  from  the  poor  boy.  I  read  it, 
and  then  gave  it  to  his  father.  He  read  it,  struggled 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  233 

with  himself  for  a  little  while,  and  then  said  to  the 
messenger,  with  a  coolness  I  did  not  expect, 

"  All  right,  sir.     Tell  him  it's  all  right." 

The  man  said, 

"  But,  sir,  you're  not  going  to  let  the  boy  stay 
down  there  ?" 

"  All  right,  sir.  Didn't  I  say  all  right,  sir?"  an 
swered  Lloyd,  his  voice  rising  in  its  pitch  and  quiv 
ering  a  little  with  the  excitement  he  was  evidently 
trying  to  keep  down. 

"  But  what  shall  I  say  to  the  boy  ?"  the  man  asked, 
with  a  kindness  of  feeling  in  marked  contrast  with 
the  hardness  and  anger  of  the  father. 

"  Haven't  I  told  you  what  to  say  ?"  almost  shouted 
Lloyd,  now  half  insane  from  passion.  "  It's  all 
right.  Tell  him  it's  all  right.  Yes,  sir,  it's  all 
right." 

"  Hallo  !  What's  up  now  ?"  broke  from  the  lips  of 
Jacobs  the  pressman,  who  came  in  at  this  moment 
and  heard  Lloyd's  passionate  ejaculations.  The  old 
man  had  been  going  down  very  fast  during  the  last 
few  months.  Drink  had  finally  mastered  him.  He 
could  no  longer  hold  appetite  in  any  sort  of  check. 
Its  cravings  had  become  so  strong  and  incessant  that 
resistance  was  over. 

Poor  old  man  !  In  his  time  he  had  been  the  best 
pressman  in  the  city,  commanding  the  largest  wages. 
Now  he  was  out  of  a  place,  the  foreman  of  the  office 
in  Harvey  street  having  been  compelled  to  discharge 
him  on  account  of  his  unfitness  for  work.  No  job 
20  * 


234  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

was  safe  in  his  hands,  nor  could  he  be  depended 
upon  as  to  time.  And  so,  with  pity  in  his  heart  for 
the  broken-down  old  man,  the  foreman  had  to  send 
him  away.  This  had  occurred  over  a  month  before 
the  time  about  which  I  am  now  writing,  and  since 
his  discharge  Jacobs  had  been  loafing  around, 
spending  his  time  in  taverns,  and  giving  us  the 
largest  part  of  his  society — something  we  would 
have  gladly  dispensed  with. 

He  had  no  means  of  living,  being  unable  to  get  a 
situation  in  any  office  in  the  city.  Money  for  drink 
he  obtained  by  borrowing  small  sums  from  one  and 
another  of  the  scores  of  printers  he  knew,  and  who 
could  not  say  "  No "  to  him,  sometimes  taking 
scarcely  any  food  all  day  beyond  the  lunch  he  could 
get  for  nothing  if  he  paid  for  a  drink.  He  stayed 
about  our  place  a  great  deal  because  he  knew  all  the 
printers  and  most  of  the  bookbinders  in  the  Harvey- 
street  establishment,  and  was  sure  to  be  asked  to 
drink  half  a  dozen  times  a  day.  He  was  getting  to 
be  a  great  nuisance,  not  only  on  account  of  his 
shabby  and  dirty  appearance,  in  which  respect  things 
grew  worse  all  the  while,  but  especially  because  of 
his  talkativeness.  There  was  no  repressing  him. 
His  oar  went  in  on  all  occasions,  and  he  was  sure 
to  pull  against  the  rest  or  splash  about  in  a  way  to 
worry  and  annoy  us.  Lloyd  was  very  rough  on  him 
at  times,  but  Jacobs  always  paid  him  back  in  words 
that  hurt  because  of  their  truth.  He  was  still  a  sort 
of  pet  or  favorite  with  most  of  the  men  who  came  in 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  235 

to  drink  because  of  his  free  and  saucy  speech,  and 
some  of  them  took  a  half-malicious  pleasure  in  set 
ting  him  off  on  the  evils  of  intemperance. 

"  Hallo  !  What's  up  now  ?"  broke  from  his  lips, 
as  just  said,  on  coming  into  the  bar-room  while 
Lloyd  was  going  on  in  the  excited  way  I  have  de 
scribed. 

"They've  got  his  young  hopeful  down  below," 
some  one  said  to  him,  in  a  low  voice  that  Lloyd 
could  not  hear. 

"  Ho,  ho  !"  he  ejaculated.  "  The  crops  a-growing. 
The  chickens  are  coming  home  to  roost.  Bad  busi 
ness  !  Bad  business !"  and  he  came  up  noisily  to 
where  Lloyd  and  I  were  standing.  Tom  looked  at 
him  with  an  expression  of  fierce  impatience  in  his 
eyes. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  What's  the  boy  been  doing  ?" 
questioned  the  old  man,  with  an  unseemly  intrusive- 
ness  that  was  very  irritating. 

Lloyd  cursed  him  with  a  hand  half  raised  to  strike 
him  down. 

"  Swearing  won't  help  it  any,"  said  Jacobs,  with  a 
coolness  that  strongly  contrasted  with  Lloyd's  ex 
cited  manner.  "  I  only  asked  what  the  boy  had  been 
doing.  Is  there  any  harm  in  that  ?" 

"  It's  none  of  your  business,  and  you'd. better  take 
yourself  off,"  answered  Lloyd,  roughly. 

Jacobs  turned  away  at  this  rebuff,  and  walked  to 
the  other  side  of  the  room,  muttering  aloud  as  he 
went: 


236  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  It's  all  coming  out  as  I  told  'em.  There's  no 
good  in  rum-selling,  and  somebody's  always  getting 
hurt.  Poor  Tom !  Sorry  for  him.  Wonder  what 
it's  all  about  ?" 

"  Nabbed  in  a  cock-pit  and  sent  down  below,"  was 
said  to  him  in  an  undertone. 

"Oh  ho!  That's  it!  Poor  boy!  Knew  he'd 
come  to  grief  sooner  or  later.  Hadn't  any  chance ! 
In  a  cock-pit !  Oh  dear !  Sorry  !  sorry  !" 

Jacobs  did  not  lower  his  voice,  and  all  this  was 
heard  by  every  one  in  the  bar-room.  Lloyd's  face 
grew  almost  livid  with  anger  and  shame. 

"  Nabbed  in  a  cock-pit!  Well,  well!  Doesn't 
that  beat  all  ?  Tom  Lloyd's  son  nabbed  in  a  cock 
pit  !"  droned  on  the  old  man,  talking  partly  to  him 
self.  "  I  told  him  long  ago  he'd  better  look  after  his 
boy.  I  saw  where  he  was  going.  But  nobody 
minds  what  I  say.  Well,  well !  The  chickens  are 
coming  home  to  roost  They  always  do." 

Lloyd  was  in  no  condition  to  bear  such  probing 
as  this.  It  maddened  him.  I  cannot  record  here 
the  shocking  oaths  that  broke  from  him  as  he  sprang 
suddenly  across  the  room  and  struck  Jacobs  a  heavy 
blow.  The  weak  old  man  fell  from  his  chair  stunned 
and  half  insensible. 

"  You'll  pay  for  that !"  said  a  journeyman  printer, 
who  sprang  forward  and  caught  Lloyd  as  he  was 
lifting  his  foot  in  his  blind  fury  to  kick  the  fallen 
man.  Another,  less  able  to  control  himself,  struck 
him  squarely  in  the  face,  cutting  his  cheek  to  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  237 

bone.  I  sprang  forward  to  the  side  of  Lloyd,  but 
saw  in  an  instant  that  all  were  against  him,  and  that 
we  would  have  no  chance  in  a  fight.  There  was  a 
pause  long  enough  to  let  the  blood  cool  down  from 
its  fever  heat,  but  a  bitter,  incensed,  angry  feeling 
remained. 

Jacobs  was  lifted  from  the  floor  and  placed  on  a 
chair.  He  was  evidently  hurt,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  tell  how  badly. 

Language  was  hardly  strong  enough  to  express 
the  indignation  felt  by  many  of  those  who  were 
present.  Lloyd's  act  was  denounced  as  cruel  and 
cowardly,  and  I  think  there  was  not  a  man  who 
looked  in  his  cut  and  bleeding  face  who  did  not  say 
in  his  heart,  "  Good  for  him !"  or,  "  Served  him 
right !"  He  got  out  of  the  way  as  soon  as  he  could, 
as  well  to  have  his  hurt  attended  to  as  to  escape  from 
the  little  crowd  of  men,  who  were  not  over  choice 
of  their  language. 

Jacobs  soon  came  to  himself,  and  to  the  many 
questions  asked  as  to  how  he  felt  said  he  was  all 
right,  except  a  queer  singing  in  his  head,  that  hurt 
when  he  moved  it.  He  was  not  inclined  to  talk,  but 
sat  in  a  dull  kind  of  way,  as  if  drowsy. 

"He'd  better  be  taken  home,"  said  one.  "I'm 
afraid  he's  hurt  more  than  we  think." 

"  Where  do  you  live,  Jacobs  ?"  asked  another. 

"  Live  ?"  inquired  Jacobs,  rousing  himself. 

"  Yes ;  where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  Don't  live  anywhere   now,"  he   replied,  with  a 


238  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

strange,  sad  humor  in  his  voice.  "  Pitched  me  out 
last  night." 

"  Where  did  you  sleep  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  crept  into  the  press-room  round  here,  and 
they  let  me  cuddle  down  in  a  corner.  The  boards 
weren't  very  soft." 

One  and  another  now  began  to  go  out,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  I  was  almost  alone  with  the  old  man, 
who  still  sat  very  quiet  and  inclined  to  sleep.  I  felt 
uneasy  about  him.  Lloyd  was  up  stairs  washing  the 
blood  from  his  face  and  cooling  off.  He  had  acted 
like  a  fool  and  a  madman.  But  day  by  day  for  a 
long  time  he  had  been  losing  control  of  himself, 
and  was  constantly  doing  and  saying  things  that 
kept  me  nervously  anxious  all  the  while. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

JACOBS  had  fallen  asleep,  and  Lloyd  was  still  up 
stairs.  I  stood  leaning  on  the  bar-railing,  with  a 
feeling  of  worry  at  my  heart,  when  a  man  whom  I 
knew  to  be  a  constable  came  in  and  inquired  for 
Lloyd. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ?"  I  asked. 

"  He  must  come  round  to  the  alderman's." 

"  For  what  ?" 

"Arrested  for  assault  and  battery,  and  maybe 
worse.  Two  men  came  and  swore  to  the  case,  and 
the  alderman's  given  me  the  summons." 

"  Where  did  it  all  happen  ?"  I  asked,  feigning  ig 
norance. 

"'Tisn't  any  use  shamming,"  the  constable  an 
swered,  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  It  all  happened  here, 
as  you  know.  Tom  Lloyd  lost  his  head — he's  apt 
to  do  that  of  late — and  pitched  into  a  customer  rather 
severely — a  poor  old  toper  who  had  no  chance  with 
him.  They  swore  that  the  man  was  badly  hurt,  and 
that  the  injuries  might  prove  fatal.  They're  waiting 
round  at  the  office,  and  say  they're  going  to  see  the 
thing  through.  Where's  Lloyd  ?" 

"  About  the  place  somewhere.  I  suppose  the 
alderman  will  take  me  ?  How  much  is  the  bail  ?" 

239 


240  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Oh,  not  more  than  a  thousand  dollars." 

"Very  well.  Wait  a  moment,  and  I'll  go  after 
Lloyd." 

I  found  him  all  cut  down,  sitting  with  his  elbows 
on  his  knees  and  his  head  between  his  hands.  As 
he  looked  up  on  my  coming  into  the  room  where  he 
sat,  I  saw  an  ugly  scar  two  inches  long  on  his  right 
cheek,  out  of  which  blood  still  oozed. 

"  A  pretty  mess  you've  made  of  it !"  I  could  not 
help  saying,  for  I  was  angry  with  him  for  bringing 
all  this  trouble  about. 

His  reply  was  an  impatient  oath,  to  which  I  re 
turned, 

"  You've  got  yourself  into  an  elegant  fix !  There's 
a  constable  after  you." 

"What?"  and  he  started  up. 

"You'll  have  to  go  round  to  an  alderman's  and 
give  bail  for  your  appearance  in  court,"  said  I. 

"For  what?" 

"  For  assault  and  battery  on  old  Jacobs.  The 
constable's  waiting  for  you." 

An  expression  of  blank  amazement  came  into  his 
face: 

"It's  impossible;  I  can't  go.  See  what  a  figure 
I  cut !"  and  he  looked  into  a  glass  at  the  great  red 
and  purple  scar  on  his  cheek. 

"  Can't  be  helped,"  I  returned.  "  So  come  along, 
and  get  the  thing  done  as  quickly  as  possible.  I'll 
go  round  with  you  and  stand  bail.  The  constable  is 
waiting." 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  241 

There  was  no  escape.  He  had  to  go  to  the  alder 
man's  and  give  the  required  bail.  As  we  came 
back,  and  drew  near  "  The  Retreat,"  I  noticed  a 
quiet-looking  man  with  a  grave,  pleasant  face  stand 
ing  near  the  door.  He  was  about  going  in  as  we 
came  up,  but  held  back  for  a  moment  as  he  saw  us 
turn  to  enter,  letting  us  pass  in,  and  then  following. 
He  stood  for  a  little  while  near  the  door,  his  bright 
gray  eyes  ranging  about  as  if  in  search  of  some  one. 

Jacobs  was  still  sitting  in  the  chair  where  we  had 
placed  him,  but  now  awake,  silent  and  serious.  The 
man  on  seeing  him  stepped  quickly  across  the  room, 
and  laying  a  hand  firmly  on  the  old  pressman's 
shoulder,  said  in  a  kind  but  earnest  voice,  "  It's  not 
too  late  yet,  Jacobs." 

And  as  he  spoke  he  took  a  card  from  his  pocket 
and  held  it  in  his  fingers. 

"  'Tisn't  any  use,  Charley ;"  and  the  old  man 
shook  his  head.  There  was  a  mournful  undertone 
in  his  voice  that  I  had  never  before  heard.  "  I'm 
past  cure,"  he  added,  his  head  dropping  forward  in 
a  helpless  kind  of  way.  "  I'm  in  the  street  now, 
Charley.  Pitched  me  out  last  night,  bag  and  bag 
gage  ;  though  as  to  the  baggage,"  he  added,  a  slight 
touch  of  the  old  humor  in  his  voice,  "  that  didn't 
count  for  much." 

"  Yes ;  I  heard  about  it  a  little  while  ago,"  an 
swered  the  man,  "  and  I  said,  *  Now's  his  last  chance. 
He's  got  to  the  end  of  the  lane  and  must  turn  back 
or  die.'  I  guess  you'll  turn  back,  my  friend. 
21  Q 


242  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

There's  good  stuff  in  you  yet.  The  best  pressman 
in  the  city  is  wanted.  They  want  him  in  Harvey 
street,  and  down  in  Sixth  street,  and  over  in  Sansom 
street.  There  are  half  a  dozen  places  waiting  for 
him.  And  then  we  want  him.  He's  been  long 
enough  a  standing  monument  of  the  evil  of  intem 
perance,  and  now  we  want  him  as  a  monument  of 
what  the  '  TEMPERANCE  BLESSING  '  can  do.  I  want 
you  to  help  me,  friend  Jacobs.  And  God  wants  you. 
He  has  sent  me  to  offer  you  another  chance.  Here  ! 
sign  this  pledge,  and  all  will  be  well." 

"  'Tisn't  any  use,  Charley,"  he  answered,  but  in  a 
voice  that  betrayed  a  rising  hope.  "I'm  too  low 
down.  Couldn't  stand  up  square  to  anything.  God 
help  me !" 

And  the  old  man  broke  down. 

"  That's  just  it,"  was  returned  in  a  voice  of  tender 
encouragement.  "  God  will  help  you,  and  no  other 
can.  I  heard  about  you  a  little  while  ago,  and  God 
put  it  into  my  heart  to  come  right  round  here.  I 
was  going  somewhere  else,  and  tried  to  think  I  must 
go,  but  something  said  to  me,  '  No,  no !  Old  Andy 
Jacobs  is  on  his  last  legs,  and  if  he  isn't  saved  now, 
it's  all  over  with  him !'  So,  you  see,  I'm  here  as  one 
sent  to  you  from  God.  Don't  be  afraid  to  trust  him. 
Sign  this  pledge,  and  that's  stopping,  you  know — 
stopping  stock  still  and  planting  your  feet  down. 
I'll  keep  by  you,  and  if  you  feel  weak,  you  shall 
lean  on  me.  Then  you'll  turn  about  and  go  the 
other  way,  and  I'll  stand  by  and  help  you  along 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  243 

until  you  can  walk  by  yourself.  I  know  all  about 
it.  I  know  what's  to  be  done." 

"  If  you  think  it  any  use,  Charley — "  Jacobs  looked 
up  into  the  face  of  the  man  wistfully. 

"  Of  use  !  I've  seen  many  of  them  come  up  out 
of  deeper  pits  than  the  one  into  which  you  have 
fallen,  Andy  Jacobs,  and  their  feet  are  now  on  solid 
rock!  Here!"  and  he  laid  the  card  down  upon 
a  table  and  handed  Jacobs  a  pencil ;  "  write  your 
name  just  there." 

"  What  does  it  say?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  I'll  read  it ;"  and  the  pledge  was  read  aloud  in 
our  bar-room.  Here  is  a  copy  of  a  similar  pledge 
now  before  me : 

TEMPERANCE   BLESSING   || 


do  solemnly  promise  to  abstain  from  the  use  or  sale  of  all  Spirituous  or  Malt 
Liquors,  Wine  or  Cider,  and  that  I  will  not  provide  them  as  an  article  of  entertain 
ment  ;  neither  will  I  offer  them  to  my  associates,  or  provide  them  for  persons  in 
my  employ.  I  also  pledge  myself  that  I  will,  under  all  suitable  circumstances, 
discountenance  their  use  as  a  beverage, 

GOD   BEING   MY   HELPER. 
Dated  this. day  of 187 

Jacobs  took  the  pencil  and  with  a  shaking  hand 
wrote  his  name  on  the  card.  A  breathless  silence 
fell  on  the  room.  Lloyd  and  I  and  all  that  were 
present  were  too  deeply  impressed  by  the  scene  to 


244  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

utter  a  light  or  disapproving  word.  I  do  not  know 
that  I  ever  felt  more  solemn  in  my  life.  I  was  glad 
for  the  degraded  old  man  that  there  was  hope  of  his 
being  held  back  even  for  a  little  while,  but  I  had  no 
faith  in  any  permanent  reformation. 

"  The  best  day's  work  you  have  done  for  a  long 
time,"  said  the  man,  cheerfully.  "  And  now  let  me 
give  you  a  certificate,  and  if  you  are  ever  tempted  to 
take  a  glass,  or  a  friend — no,  an  enemy — asks  you 
to  drink,  look  at  it  and  say  '  No  !'  " 

He  then  filled  up  the  blank  of  another  card  and 
handed  it  to  Jacobs.  I  give  a  copy  of  that  also  : 

"PERSEVERANCE,  FORTITUDE  AND   FIDELITY." 


THIS    is    TO    CERTIFY, 

That  MR.  ANDREW   JACOBS 

Signed  the  PLEDGE  of  the  Temperance  Blessing 

On  June  10,  18     . 

Attest:  CHARLES  HERITAGE. 

Then  he  took  the  old  man,  and  said, 

"  Come." 

"  I  haven't  any  place  to  go  to,  Charley,"  replied 
Jacobs,  rising  slowly  and  heavily,  and  putting  one 
hand  to  his  head  as  if  it  pained  him. 

I  noticed  this  movement  of  his  hand,  and  glanced 
at  Lloyd,  who  must  have  noticed  it  also,  for  a  look 
of  uneasiness  passed  across  his  face.  There  was  no 
knowing  what  might  come  of  the  blow  Jacobs  had 
received. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  245 

"  I'll  find  you  a  place,"  was  answered  in  an  assur 
ing  voice.  "  It's  all  right  now.  So  come  along." 

And  they  went  out  together. 

"And  that's  brother  Heritage!  God  bless  him!" 
fell  from  the  lips  of  a  man  who  stood  leaning  on  the 
bar-railing. 

"  The  man  of  the  '  Temperance  Blessing  ?' "  re 
marked  another. 

"  Yes ;  the  man  who  in  less  than  four  years  has 
got  over  three  thousand  persons  to  sign  his  '  Tem 
perance  Blessing '  pledge." 

"  He  won't  make  much  out  of  old  Jacobs,"  growled 
Lloyd.  "  No  such  good  luck  for  us." 

"  He's  managed  a  great  deal  worse  cases  than  that," 
said  the  other. 

"  Don't  believe  it,"  growled  back  Lloyd. 

"  I  happen  to  know,"  was  answered.  "  Some  of 
you  remember  Phil  Oldham  ?  Well,  he  got  so  low 
at  last  that  he  was  sent  to  the  almshouse.  He 
would  have  died  of  cold  and  starvation  in  the  street 
if  the  guardians  of  the  poor  hadn't  taken  care  of  him. 
A  year  ago  last  spring  he  came  out  of  his  winter 
quarters  over  the  Schuylkill  and  tried  to  keep  sober, 
but  it  wasn't  a  week  before  he  was  down  in  the 
gutter  again.  He  couldn't  stand  alone,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  help  and  encourage  him  in  the  right 
way,  so  he  fell,  in  spite  of  his  good  resolutions." 

A  number  of  men  had  come  in  to  drink  during 
the  past  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  and  they  were  all 
more  or  less  interested  in  what  had  occurred  and  in 
21* 


246  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

the  conversation  which  was  growing  out  of  it. 
Most  of  them  knew  Jacobs  very  well.  They  now 
gathered  in  a  close  group  about  the  man  who  was 
speaking.  Among  them  were  two  or  three  hard 
drinkers — men  who  had  become  slaves  to  appetite, 
who  were  almost  helpless  in  the  morning  until  a 
dram  steadied  their  nerves.  Wilson  the  bookbinder 
was  one  of  these.  He  was  going  to  ruin  fast. 

The  man  went  on  : 

"  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Phil  Oldham  yesterday — 
or,  I  should  say,  rather,  Philip  Oldham,  for  that's 
the  way  it  reads  on  the  sign  over  his  door.  I  never 
saw  brother  Heritage,  as  some  of  them  call  him, 
until  just  now,  and  I  said  *  God  bless  him !'  for  Philip 
Oldham's  sake.  I  got  the  whole  story,  and  it  al 
most  made  me  cry  sometimes.  There's  nothing 
just  like  it  in  any  book  I  ever  read." 

"What  story?"  asked  one. 

"  Phil  Oldham's  story,"  he  replied. 

"  Has  he  reformed  ?" 

"  I  should  think  so.  Has  a  nice  little  store  full 
of  goods,"  was  answered. 

"  Tell  us  about  him,  won't  you  ?  Reformed ! 
That  is  news !  Why,  I  remember  Phil  as  the 
hardest  case  going." 

"  It  isn't  a  short  story,"  said  the  man,  "  but  it 
didn't  seem  long  to  me  in  the  telling." 

"Let's  have  it!"  "Fire  away!"  came  from  one 
and  another. 

"  Gentlemen,"  called  Lloyd,  who  didn't  like  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  247 

course  things  were  taking,  and  who  wanted  to  get  in 
some  interruption,  and  so  prevent,  if  possible,  further 
talk  in  that  direction. 

The  company  turned  to  him. 

"  Take  a  drink  all  round,  gentlemen,  and  then  have 
the  story." 

A  few  came  toward  the  bar,  but  the  man  who  had 
been  speaking  said,  in  a  clear,  decided  voice, 

"  You  can't  have  the  drinks  and  the  story  too. 
It's  only  a  flank  movement  to  get  me  out  of  the  way. 
I've  seen  it  done  a  hundred  times.  So  if  you're 
going  to  drink  all  round,  I'm  off." 

"  Stop,  stop !"  cried  two  or  three.  "  Let's  have 
the  story." 

"  All  right ;  we'll  have  that  first.  The  drinks  will 
keep,"  was  added,  and  the  company  closed  about  the 
man  again. 

"  Not  if  I  know  myself,"  said  Lloyd,  angrily,  as 
he  set  back  the  decanters  he  had  placed  on  the  bar. 
"  Now  or  never !" 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE  tide  was  setting  against  us,  and  I  yielded 
passively,  as  I  had  learned  to  do  on  such  occa 
sions.  Lloyd  fretted  and  fumed  and  swore  fruitless 
ly.  Let  me  recall  as  accurately  as  possible  the  true 
story  told  in  our  bar-room  that  morning.  I  grew  in 
terested  in  it  in  spite  of  myself,  and  did  not  wonder 
that  many  were  touched  or  deeply  moved  by  the 
narrative.  The  man  resumed  : 

I'm  going  to  tell  you  Phil  Oldham's  story  just  as 
he  told  it  to  me.  You  may  think  it's  Phil  himself 
talking.  This  is  what  he  said  : 

"  I  was  dead  beat  at  last — clear  down.  My  poor 
wife,  who  stuck  to  me  while  there  was  any  hope,  had 
left  me  and  gone  to  her  friends.  My  children  were 
scattered  about  here  and  there.  I  was  a  helpless 
vagabond,  with  only  one  distinct  consciousness,  and 
that  an  ever-present,  irrepressible  desire  for  liquor.  To 
get  that  I  was  ready  to  stoop  to  anything — to  beg,  to 
sponge  on  others,  even  to  steal  had  the  opportunity 
come  in  my  way,  but  not  to  work,  for  I  had  lost 
that  control  of  head  and  hand  which  work  requires. 

"  My  days,  as  I  look  back  to  them  now,  were 
passed  as  in  a  suffering,  uneasy,  troubled  dream, 
with  only  one  thing  palpable  and  clear — an  intense, 

248 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  249 

unsatisfied  craving  for  strong  drink.  I  had  no  home. 
I  could  not  pay  for  lodgings,  and  there  was  no  one 
who  cared  enough  for  me  to  see  that  I  had  a  place 
in  which  to  lay  my  miserable  body.  If  I  fell  asleep 
in  a  saloon,  I  was  rudely  shaken  up  and  turned  out 
of  doors,  often  with  some  cruel  trick  played  off  upon 
me.  No  one  cared  for  me — no  one  seemed  even  to 
pity  me.  All  men  turned  away  from  me  with  dis 
gust.  And  yet,  somehow,  I  managed  to  get,  by  so 
liciting  one  and  another,  by  false  pretences  or  down 
right  lying,  a  few  pennies  every  day  with  which  to 
buy  liquor.  Food  I  got  by  begging  when  I  felt 
hungry,  but  hunger  didn't  trouble  me  so  much,  a 
little  satisfied  that — it  was  drink,  drink,  drink,  that  I 
craved  with  an  appetite  nothing  could  appease.  I 
slept  at  night  as  I  could,  creeping  in  here  and  there, 
often  finding  myself  in  the  station-house  when  morn 
ing  broke. 

"  Last  winter  a  year  I  was  picked  up  in  the  street 
half  dead  with  cold  and  sent  to  the  almshouse, 
where  I  stayed  until  spring.  When  I  came  out,  I 
tried  feebly  to  get  on  my  feet  again,  but  I  had  no 
employment,  no  home,  no  one  to  care  for  me.  I  was 
walking  along  the  street  wondering  what  was  to  be 
come  of  me,  and  in  my  poor  way  trying  to  hold  on 
to  good  resolution,  when  I  met  an  old  acquaintance. 

"  '  Hallo,  Phil !  Is  this  you  ?'  he  said,  with  rough 
familiarity,  grasping  my  hand.  '  I  thought  you  were 
dead  long  ago  ;'  and  he  eyed  me  all  over.  '  Rather 
seedy-looking/  he  added. 


250  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  ( Yes,'  I  replied.  '  It's  rough  with  me.  When  a 
poor  devil  gets  going  down  hill,  there  isn't  much 
chance  for  him.' 

" '  Come,  let's  have  a  drink,'  he  said ;  '  I  know 
you're  dry.' 

"There  was  a  tavern  just  opposite.  He  moved  in 
that  direction  as  he  spoke,  and  I  went  with  him  as 
passively  as  a  boat  towed  by  a  steamer  when  the  en 
gine  moves.  I  drank,  and  it  was  all  over  with  me 
again.  That  night  I  slept  in  the  entry  of  a  printing- 
office  on  Seventh  street,  hidden  under  the  stairway. 
In  the  morning  I  was  stiff,  aching  with  rheumatism, 
thirsty  and  wretched.  I  crawled  out,  and  going  into 
the  press-room,  begged  for  something  with  which  to 
get  my  breakfast.  Two  of  the  men  gave  me  ten 
cents  each.  I  got  only  liquor,  reserving  part  of  my 
money  for  lunch-time,  when  I  could  get  some  soup 
or  hash  as  well  as  beer.  I  loafed  about  all  day  aim 
less  and  miserable.  I  felt  myself  going  down  help 
lessly  and  hopelessly,  and  the  people  who  knew  me 
seemed  more  inclined  to  push  me  down  lower  than 
to  help  me  up  higher.  I  got  from  one  and  another 
during  the  day  over  sixty  cents,  and  I  spent  all  but 
ten  cents  in  drink ;  that  I  reserved  for  a  morning 
dram,  when  I  knew  my  craving  would  be  the  worst. 
I  slept  in  the  entry  and  under  the  stairway  where  I 
had  found  shelter  on  the  night  before. 

"On  the  third  day  after  I  came  from  the  alms- 
house  I  was  not  so  successful  in  raising  money. 
Everybody  seemed  gruff,  out  of  humor  and  quick 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  251 

to  deny  me.  I  spent  my  ten  cents  early  in  the  morn 
ing  to  get  steadied  up ;  after  that  I  could  get  nothing. 
I  went  here  and  there,  asking  this  one  and  that  for 
the  loan  or  gift  of  a  trifle,  but  up  to  one  o'clock  had 
not  been  able  to  quench  the  craving  thirst  that  grew 
stronger  and  stronger  every  moment.  At  last,  in  a 
desperate  way,  I  went  into  a  tavern  down  town,  and 
going  up  to  the  bar,  called  for  a  glass  of  whisky. 
The  man  eyed  me  suspiciously  as  he  set  down  a 
decanter.  I  took  it  and  filled  a  glass  half  full,  then 
adding  a  slight  dash  of  water,  poured  down  the  fiery 
fluid.  Ugh !  It  was  a  dose,  tasting  more  like  a 
mixture  of  benzine  and  soap-suds  than  anything  I 
can  describe.  It  burnt  all  the  way  down. 

"  What  was  I  to  do  next  ?  I  had  not  a  cent  with 
which  to  bless  myself.  But  I  must  get  off  somehow. 
I  thrust  my  hand  first  into  one  pocket  and  then  into 
another,  with  as  much  make-believe  expectation  of 
finding  money  there  as  I  could  put  on,  the  tavern- 
keeper  eyeing  me  all  the  while  in  an  evil  way  that 
caused  me  to  feel  afraid  of  him. 

" ' It's  here  somewhere,'  I  said,  going  from  one 
pocket  to  another  in  a  nervous  way. 

" '  You'd  better  find  it  pretty  quick,'  the  man  said, 
roughly,  and  with  a  threat  in  his  voice,  at  the  same 
time  coming  round  from  the  bar.  I  instinctively 
backed  away  toward  the  door ;  we  were  alone,  and  I 
saw  no  pity  in  his  face.  I  still  kept  going  through 
my  pockets,  protesting  all  the  while  that  there  must 
be  money  in  them  somewhere.  He  cursed  me  as  a 


252  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

cheat  and  a  swindler.  I  turned  in  fear  and  ran  for 
the  door,  getting  it  open  before  he  could  reach  me. 
As  I  was  passing  through  he  kicked  me  with  a  force 
that  threw  me  half  across  the  pavement  and  over  on 
my  face. 

"  I  was  not  much  hurt,  but  a  good  deal  frightened. 
A  crowd  came  about  me  as  I  gathered  myself  up, 
but  no  one  took  my  part  or  expressed  any  sympathy. 
Vicious  boys  and  girls,  white  and  black,  began  pull 
ing  me  one  way  and  another,  calling  me  names  and 
throwing  dirt  and  garbage  upon  me,  while  the  tavern- 
keeper  stood  in  the  door  laughing  and  encouraging 
them.  Hearing  the  noise,  a  policeman  came  up,  but, 
instead  of  dispersing  the  crowd  and  protecting  me, 
ordered  me  to  '  make  tracks/  or  he'd  put  me  in  the 
lock-up.  I  got  off  as  best  I  could,  some  of  the 
crowd  following  and  hooting. 

"  My  poor  knees  trembled  as  I  hurried  up  Sixth 
street.  I  felt  weak  and  ready  to  fall.  On  reaching 
the  square,  I  went  in  and  sat  down.  Oh,  I  cannot 
tell  you  how  heartsick  I  was.  I  knew  into  what 
depths  of  suffering  and  degradation  I  had  gone  down 
before  the  almshouse  opened  its  doors  for  me,  and 
thither  my  steps  were  again  tending,  and  there  was 
none  to  hold  me  back — none  to  save  me. 

"  As  I  sat  in  this  wretched  frame  of  mind,  wishing 
I  were  dead,  a  man  whom  I  had  known  in  better 
days  came  loitering  through  the  square.  He  saw 
and  knew  me.  Stopping,  he  said, 

" '  Why,  Phil  Oldham !'  and  he   reached  out  his 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  253 

hand.     I  took  it,  glad  to  be  recognized  and  spoken 
to  kindly.     '  How  are  you,  old  friend  ?'  he  asked. 

"  '  Not  much  to  brag  of/  I  replied.  '  Used  to  be 
some  account,  but  when  the  tide  turns  against  a  man, 
his  friends  turn  too.  It's  a  hard  world  to  live  in.' 

" '  Guess  you're  right  there,'  he  answered,  falling 
in  with  my  mood.  '  What  are  you  doing  now  ?'  he 
inquired. 

"  '  Nothing/  I  replied.  '  Got  run  down — been 
sick — half  dead  with  rheumatism.  Couldn't  come 
up  to  time,  and  so  got  out  of  work.  It's  easy  going 
down  hill  when  you  once  get  started,  and  most  men 
stand  ready  to  give  you  a  push.' 

"  '  That's  so/  was  returned.  '  I  know  all  about  it. 
You're  all  cleaned  out,  I  suppose  ?' 

"  '  Not  a  penny  to  bless  myself  with.' 

"'And  dry  as  a  fish,  no  doubt?'  he  said,  smiling. 

" '  Haven't  had  a  good  square  drink  to-day/  I  re 
plied.  '  Look !'  and  I  held  out  my  hand  that  he 
might  see  it  tremble. 

"'Come,  then/  and  he  moved  on,  I  following. 
We  had  no  occasion  to  search  for  a  tavern :  drink- 
ing-saloons  were  all  about  us.  We  could  not  turn 
in  any  direction  without  seeing  one  or  more. 

"  After  drinking  with  me  twice,  my  old  acquaint 
ance  gave  me  a  dollar  and  said  good-bye. 

"  I  felt  rich  and  in  high  spirits  for  a  little  while. 
Two  strong  glasses  of  ale  set  me  on  my  feet,  toned 
me  up,  satisfied  the  craving  which    since    morning 
had  almost  driven  me  beside  myself. 
22 


254  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"I  was  never  able  to  tell  what  became  of  that 
dollar.  I  found  myself,  near  daylight  on  the  next 
morning,  lying  on  an  ash-heap  in  an  alley  into  which 
I  must  have  staggered  and  fallen  on  the  night  before. 
I  had  a  faint  recollection  of  having  had  a  fuss  with  a 
bar-keeper  about  change.  I  have  no  doubt  now 
that  I  never  got  back  any  change  for  that  dollar  after 
offering  it  in  pay  for  a  drink,  or,  if  any  change  at  all, 
only  a  small  part  of  what  I  should  have  received. 

"  And  here  let  me  say  that  there  is  a  great  deal 
of  sharp  practice  in  this  matter  of  change.  I  have 
gone  into  a  saloon  with  five  or  ten  dollars  in  my 
pocket,  and  after  staying  half  an  hour  or  an  hour 
come  out  with  only  a  dollar  or  two  left.  Of  course 
I  drank  enough  to  get  my  head  confused,  and  then  I 
was  game  for  any  scamp  of  a  bar-keeper  who  wished 
to  swindle  me.  Let  me  tell  you  how  this  is  some 
times  done.  Take  a  Saturday  night,  for  instance, 
after  men  have  been  paid  off.  Business  in  certain 
taverns  is  brisker  then  than  usual.  Customers  are 
flush  and  feel  generous,  drinking  and  treating  and 
having  a  good  time  all  round.  The  bar-keepers  are 
busy,  drawing  beer  and  ale,  mixing  punches  and 
toddies,  taking  money  and  giving  change.  A  man, 
after  drinking  with  a  friend  or  two,  hands  over,  it 
may  be,  a  two-  or  a  five-dollar  bill.  The  bar-keeper, 
who  knows  his  customer,  flings  the  bill  into  a  drawer, 
hurriedly  picks  up  the  change  and  pushes  it  over  the 
bar,  then  goes  quickly  as  far  off  as  he  can  get  to 
attend  to  somebody  else.  On  counting  over  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  255 

change  it  is  found  to  be  half  a  dollar  short.  The 
man  waits  until  he  can  come  at  the  bar-keeper 
again,  who  is  too  busy  to  look  at  or  attend  to  him. 
When  the  matter  is  brought  to  his  attention,  he 
bluffs  the  customer  off,  or,  if  he  be  a  cool-headed 
fellow,  courteously  tells  him  it  is  impossible,  he 
must  have  dropped  the  change  on  the  floor. 

"  Or  a  man  half  drunk  hands  over  a  bill.  The 
bar-keeper  says,  '  In  a  moment,'  and  goes  to  another 
customer  without  giving  the  change.  A  friend  comes 
up,  and  the  man  turns  away  to  talk  with  him  and 
forgets  about  his  change.  If,  after  a  while,  he  thinks 
of  it  and  returns,  the  bar-keeper  tells  him  rudely 
or  blandly,  as  seems  best,  that  he  gave  it  to  him 
long  ago.  Sometimes  there's  a  flare  up,  but  in  most 
cases  the  matter  ends  there. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  was  never  able  to  tell 
what  became  of  that  dollar,  but  some  bar-keeper 
knew,  without  doubt.  For  about  a  month  longer  I 
went  on  in  this  way,  until  I  was  lower  down  than 
ever,  and  began  to  have  symptoms  of  that  utter 
nervous  prostration  that  ends  in  mania.  I  could  not 
get  liquor  enough  to  keep  me  up.  Beer  and  ale  had 
not  sufficient  strength,  and  I  drank  whisky  at  the 
cheapest  places,  so  as  to  get  the  most  for  the  little 
money  I  could  raise. 

"  One  evening  about  seven  o'clock,  after  a  day  of 
terrible  suffering  from  unappeased  thirst,  an  old  ac 
quaintance  whom  I  met  in  the  street  gave  me  ten 
cents.  He  refused  at  first,  saying  that  he  would  not 


256  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

give  me  money  for  drink.  But  I  told  him  I  had 
eaten  nothing  since  morning  and  was  dying  for  food. 
Doubt  mingled  with  pity  in  his  eyes  as  he  gave  me 
the  money. 

"  I  must  husband  this.  I  must  make  it  go  as  far 
as  possible.  So  I  went  to  one  of  the  cheap  whisky- 
mills  and  called  for  a  three-cent  glass.  It  was  hor 
rible  stuff,  fiery  and  strong.  I  poured  it  down,  un 
mixed  with  water,  and  went  out  quickly,  for  I  was 
sure  it  would  not  stay,  nor  did  it.  My  diseased, 
over-taxed,  sensitive  stomach  threw  the  nauseous 
potion  out.  I  went  back  and  drank  another  glass, 
and  stood  for  a  moment  to  note  my  feeling.  The 
poor  stomach  rebelled  again.  I  went  out  and  did  as 
before.  My  third  trial  was  successful.  The  liquor 
held  its  own  against  the  baffled  organ. 

"I  knew  that  it  was  pretty  much  over  with  me 
now.  There  was  not  strength  enough  in  that  single 
glass  to  keep  me  up.  My  mind  was  pretty  clear. 
I  saw  the  awful  gulf  that  opened  at  my  feet,  and 
knew  that  unless  God  helped  me  I  must  go  down. 
Unless  God  helped  me !  Yes,  my  poor  despairing 
heart  had  a  deep  sense  at  that  time  of  the  only  hope, 
of  the  only  arm,  that  could  save.  Never  before 
had  I  felt  it  as  I  then  did. 

"  I  wandered  aimlessly  up  Sixth  street  until  I 
came  to  Chestnut,  where  I  stood  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  turned  down.  As  I  came  opposite  the 
State-house  I  saw  in  one  of  the  windows  a  trans 
parent  sign  bearing  the  words, 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  257 


TEMPERANCE  BLESSING. 
FREE  TO  ALL. 


"'The  Temperance  Blessing!'  I  said  to  myself  as 
I  stood  still,  looking  at  the  letters  glowing  in  a  soft 
warm  light ;  *  what  is  that  ?'  Men  and  women  were 
entering  the  State-house  door,  and  through  the  win 
dow  above  the  transparency  I  could  see  the  heads  of 
many  people.  'The  Temperance  Blessing/  I  re 
peated  to  myself  over  and  over,  and  then  there  came 
upon  me  an  impulse  to  go  in.  So  I  followed.  The 
court-room  at  the  right  was  full  of  people,  the  num 
ber  so  large  that  many  had  to  stand.  I  was  a  loath 
some  object,  and  men  moved  away  from  me,  but  I 
crowded  in  and  got  a  seat  back  near  the  wall. 

"  On  the  railed  platform  or  bench  on  the  western 
side  of  the  room  were  about  a  dozen  little  girls.  At 
the  desk  in  front  stood  a  man  past  the  middle  age, 
with  iron-gray  hair  and  a  mild,  kind  face.  He  held 
some  slips  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and  was  saying  that 
the  evening's  exercises  would  be  opened  by  singing 
'the  Temperance  Blessing  hymn.'  He  then  dis 
tributed  the  slips  of  paper  containing  this  hymn 
through  the  audience.  When  everything  was  ready, 
a  lady  started  the  tune,  and  all  sang  with  as  much 
freedom  and  earnestness  as  if  they -had  been  in 
church.  I  give  you  the  first  verse  of  the  hymn  : 

'  Temperance  !  source  of  every  blessing, 

Safeguard  of  the  old  and  young, 
22*  R 


258  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Let  those  now  thy  joy  possessing 

Praise  thy  virtues  trumpet-tongued. 
From  a  dire  career  of  madness 

We  were  plucked  like  brands  from  fire ; 
Joy  now  dwells  where  once  was  sadness : 

We  have  conquered  fierce  desire.' 

"  It  was  years  since  I  had  been  to  church.  How 
the  singing,  in  a  tune  once  familiar  almost  as  my 
mother's  voice,  took  me  away  back !  How  it  melted 
me  down  !  How  it  overcame  me  !  Old  tender,  sa 
cred  and  religious  impressions  returned.  I  was 
strangely  moved  while  the  singing  went  on.  At  its 
close  the  chairman  of  the  meeting,  whom  I  have 
mentioned,  said,  to  my  surprise,  '  Let  us  pray.'  I  had 
not  looked  for  that.  Some  stood  up ;  most  of  those 
present  merely  bowed  their  heads  where  they  sat, 
but  I  got  down  upon  my  knees  :  I  couldn't  help  it ; 
and  when  the  chairman  prayed  for  a  blessing  on  the 
assembly,  and  for  especial  help  from  God  for  any 
poor  drunkard  that  might  be  there,  I  groaned  in 
spirit,  '  God  help  me !'  Somehow,  after  that  prayer, 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  going  to  be  helped,  as  if  God  had 
led  me  there,  and  surely  it  was  so ! 

"After  the  prayer  was  over  the  chairman  said, 
'  Now  we  will  have  a  temperance  song  from  one  of 
our  little  friends.'  At  this  one  of  the  girls  I  have 
mentioned  stood  up  and  sang  something  that  sounded 
very  sweet.  Her  innocent  face  took  my  heart  back 
to  the  children  that  once  made  music  in  my  home. 
I  felt  strange  and  tender. 

"  Then  the  chairman  talked  for  a  while  about  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  259 

'  Blessing/  as  the  meeting  held  there  every  Tuesday 
evening  was  called,  and  told  of  many  who  had 
signed  the  pledge  of  the  '  Blessing/  and  were  now 
sober  and  happy.  He  read  the  number  of  the  last 
signature  on  the  pledge-book :  it  was  two  thousand 
five  hundred  and  twenty-seven !  I  felt  oppressed 
and  in  a  maze,  but  there  was  just  enough  of  excite 
ment  in  the  scene  to  keep  me  up.  He  said  that  the 
pledge-book  was  now  open,  and  would  lie  open  all 
the  evening,  that  if  any  wished  to  sign,  to  make  in 
that  hall  where  national  independence  was  first  de 
clared  a  declaration  of  personal  independence,  the 
opportunity  was  here  given.  '  Come  now,  or  at  any 
time  during  the  evening/  he  urged.  '  The  moment 
you  feel  an  impulse  to  do  so,  come  forward.  The 
sight  will  gladden  our  hearts.  Come  over  on  our 
side  and  help  us,  and  we  will  help  you/ 

"  After  this  one  of  the  girls  recited  in  a  clear,  well- 
trained  voice,  and  with  admirable  effect,  a  poem  bear 
ing  on  temperance.  At  its  close  two  or  three  men 
went  forward  and  signed  the  pledge.  I  was  strongly 
impelled  to  go,  but  did  not  rise  from  my  seat. 
1  What  good  would  it  do  ?'  I  said  to  myself.  '  There's 
no  one  to  help  me ;  no  one  to  take  me  by  the  hand ; 
no  one  to  hold  me  up.  I  have  no  home ;  where  can 
I  go  ?  What  can  I  do  ?'  A  feeling  of  dumb  despair 
came  over  me,  and  I  felt  helpless  and  hopeless.  For 
some  time  after  that  I  hardly  heard  what  was  going 
on.  But  after  a  while  I  saw  that  a  man  was  on  the 
floor  speaking.  I  listened,  and  he  told  how  he  had 


260  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

once  been  away  down  almost  as  low  as  I  was,  how 
he  had  seen  the  ' Temperance  Blessing'  sign  one 
night,  just  as  I  had  seen  it,  and  how  he  had  come  in 
just  as  I  had  come,  and  how  he  had  signed  the 
pledge,  and  how  '  brother  Heritage,'  pointing  to  the 
chairman  as  he  spoke,  had  taken  him  by  the  hand, 
and  stood  by  him  until  he  was  able  to  stand  alone. 
How  eagerly  I  listened  to  every  word ! 

"  When  he  had  done  speaking,  the  chairman  called 
one  of  the  little  girls  by  name,  and  said,  '  Now  give 
us  that  song  you  learned  last  week.' 

"  The  child  stood  up.  She  was  not  over  ten  years 
of  age.  I  felt  my  heart  give  a  strong  beat  as  I 
looked  into  her  dear  young  face,  she  was  so  like  one 
of  my  own  children.  I  wiped  my  dim  eyes  and 
strained  them  toward  her.  Oh  what  a  tide  of  old 
feelings  came  rushing  back  upon  me !  But  I  knew 
it  was  not  my  Lucy.  She  had  gone  to  a  better 
world  long  ago. 

"  Out  on  the  hushed  air  of  the  room  stole  the 
sweet  voice,  tender,  sad  and  pleading,  in  the  words, 
'  Father,  come  home !' 

"  It  seemed  like  the  voice  of  my  own  child  calling 
to  me.  Home !  Come  home !  God  help  me !  I 
had  no  home ! 

"  The  song  went  on,  the  singer  pleading  with  the 
imaginary  father  to  come  home,  and  I  sat  listening 
as  if  to  the  voice  of  my  own  child. 

"  '  If  there  is  any  poor  wanderer  here  to-night,'  said 
the  chairman  as  the  song  ceased,  *  let  him  come  home 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  261 

now — home  to  the  '  Blessing.'  He  will  find  it  an 
ark  of  safety  and  a  haven  of  rest.' 

"  I  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  something  seemed 
to  hold  me  down.  Almost  with  a  cry  I  started  to 
my  feet  and  moved  blindly  forward,  saying  in  my 
thought,  '  I  will  go  home !  I  will  be  free,  God  help 
ing  me !'  One  and  another  gave  way  as  I  moved. 
The  chairman's  quick  eyes  saw  me,  and  he  came 
forward  to  meet  and  led  me  to  the  table  where  the 
pledge-book  lay. 

"  My  hand  shook  as  I  lifted  the  pen ;  my  sight 
was  so  blurred  that  I  could  hardly  see  the  page  be 
fore  me.  But  I  set  the  pen  down  resolutely,  and 
wrote  as  best  I  could  my  name.  A  card  certifying 
that  I  had  signed  the  pledge  of  the  'Temperance 
Blessing '  was  then  put  into  my  hand. 

"  I  can't  recall  much  of  what  was  said  and  done 
after  that.  There  was  speaking  and  singing  and 
talking  by  the  chairman,  while  every  now  and  then 
some  one  came  up  and  signed  the  pledge,  but  it  all 
passed  as  if  I  were  dreaming.  The  singing  of  the 
Doxology,  '  Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings 
flow,'  by  the  whole  assemblage  at  the  close  of  the 
meeting,  roused  me  to  a  clearer  and  a  better  state  of 
mind. 

"  The  little  card  certificate  was  in  my  hand.  I  was 
holding  on  to  it  tightly,  very  much  with  the  feeling, 
I  think,  of  a  man  overboard  with  the  end  of  a  slender 
rope  in  his  hand  that  he  feels  may  snap  at  any  mo 
ment,  while  the  angry  waves  roar  about  him.  In 


262  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

this  little  card  I  felt  lay,  somehow,  my  last  and  only 
hope. 

"  I  sat  still  as  the  people  went  slowly  out.  When 
I  left  that  room,  where  was  I  to  go  ?  What  was  to 
become  of  me  ?  I  had  signed  a  pledge  not  to  drink 
again.  Could  I,  without  food,  without  a  physician, 
without  a  place  in  which  to  lay  my  head,  hope  for 
anything?  I  felt  the  chill  of  utter  despair  come 
creeping  over  me,  and  then  I  cried,  turning  as  best  I 
could  my  poor  heart  to  the  Saviour  who  died  for 
me — the  Saviour  I  had,  when  a  little  boy  at  my 
mother's  knee,  so  loved  to  read  about — '  Lord,  save 
me,  or  I  perish !'  There  never  went  up  a  cry  to  God 
from  a  lower  depth  of  despairing  helplessness  than 
the  one  my  heart  sent  up  that  night.  Even  as  I 
prayed  I  felt  a  hand  laid  on  my  shoulder,  and  there 
was  something  in  the  touch  that  gave  me  hope. 

"  '  Brother  Oldham.'  It  was  the  chairman's  voice. 
How  tender  and  interested  it  was  !  '  Brother  Oldham  !' 
How  did  he  know  my  name  ?  I  did  not  rise,  but 
sat  trembling,  for  my  poor  unstimulated  nerves  were 
fast  giving  way. 

" '  Where  do  you  live  ?'  he  asked. 

"  *  I  have  no  home/  I  almost  sobbed.  I  was 
breaking  down. 

" ' Then  I  must  find  you  one/  he  answered, 
cheerily.  '  Come !' 

"  I  got  up  and  followed.  How  differently  things 
looked  in  the  street  as  we  came  out!  How  or  in 
what  they  were  changed  I  could  not  tell,  but 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  263 

somehow  I  had  to  them,  or  they  to  me,  a  new  rela 
tion.  They  spoke  to  me  in  a  language  I  had  not 
heard  for  a  long,  long  time. 

"  We  walked  for  several  squares,  the  chairman  of 
the  '  Blessing '  talking  all  the  while  hopefully,  and 
saying  that  I'd  find  plenty  of  friends  to  stand  by  and 
help  me  if  I  kept  true  to  my  pledge,  and  I  answering 
over  and  over  again, 

"  '  God  helping  me,  I  will !'  Weak,  broken,  almost 
gone,  I  was  now  desperately  in  earnest.  I  said  to 
myself,  '  I  will  stand  or  die !' 

"  My  God-sent  friend  went  with  me  to  a  house 
down  in  Seventh  street,  where  I  was  taken  in  and 
kept  for  a  few  days.  At  first  I  was  refused  admis 
sion.  But  my  friend  would  take  no  denial.  He 
pleaded  for  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  son  or  a  brother. 
I  heard  him  say,  '  God  has  sent  him  to  your  door, 
a  lost  sheep  of  his  fold  just  ready  to  perish;  you 
dare  not  refuse  to  take  him  in.  It  may  be  the  salva 
tion  of  a  soul  precious  in  his  sight.' 

"  And  so  he  prevailed.  I  had  a  warm  bath,  a  clean 
shirt  and  a  clean  bed  to  lie  down  upon,  a  strong  cup 
of  coffee  and  something  to  eat.  My  filthy  garments 
were  all  taken  away,  and  my  friend  said,  as  he  left 
me  for  the  night,  after  having  brought  in  a  physician 
to  give  me  something  to  take  the  place  of  liquor  in 
my  worn-out  nervous  system,  and  so  keep  me  if 
possible  from  mania,  '  In  the  morning  I  will  bring 
you  some  better  clothing.' 

"What  a  night  that  was!     I  was  afraid  to  lose 


264  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

myself  in  sleep,  lest  I  should  be  seized  by  delirium. 
I  got  up  and  down,  sometimes  walking  about  the 
floor,  sometimes  kneeling  and  begging  God  to  help 
and  save  me,  sometimes  so  overcome  with  fear  and 
despair  as  to  cry  like  a  child.  None  but  the  un 
happy  ones  who  have  had  similar  experiences  can 
imagine  anything  of  what  I  suffered. 

"  Toward  day  I  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  woke,  dear 
brother  Heritage  was  sitting  at  my  bedside.  He 
took  my  hand  and  said,  '  It  is  well.' 

" '  God  bless  you !'  I  sobbed,  and  tears  made  me 
so  blind  that  I  could  not  see  his  face.  He  had 
brought  me  an  old  suit  of  clothes.  They  were  lying 
across  a  chair.  He  pointed  to  them,  saying, 

"'We're  going  to  have  you  all  right,  brother — 
going  to  give  you  a  good  chance,  going  to  help  you 
up  and  make  a  man  of  you  again.' 

"  I  tried  to  rise,  but  sunk  back  weak  and  trem 
bling.  All  my  strength  was  gone.  I  was  like  a 
man  just  over  some  crisis  in  a  long  sickness.  But 
oh,  words  cannot  tell  the  deep  thankfulness  that  was 
in  my  heart.  I  was  on  the  shore,  far  inside  the 
bieakers,  yet  with  their  awful  roar  still  sounding  in 
my  ears. 

"The  woman  to  whose  house  I  had  been  taken 
had  now  become  interested  in  my  case,  and  she 
cared  for  me  as  if  I  had  been  her  own  son.  May 
God  reward  her !  as  I  know  he  will. 

"  Entire  rest,  with  nourishing  food,  gave  a  new 
life  to  the  forces  of  nature,  which  were  wellnigh  ex- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  265 

hausted.  In  a  few  days  I  was  strong  enough  to  go 
out,  and  now  the  peril  came. 

" '  Dear  brother,'  I  said  to  the  friend  who  had 
rescued  me  as  I  stood  on  the  brink  of  destruction, 
'  what  am  I  to  do  ?' 

"  '  Go  to  work,  of  course/  he  answered.  '  It  won't 
do  to  be  idle.  You'd  be  down  again  before  three 
days  went  over  your  head.' 

"  *  Where  am  I  to  get  work  ?'  I  asked.  '  Nobody 
that  knows  me  will  have  me  about.' 

" '  What  can  you  do  ?'  he  asked,  *  and  who  do  you 
know  ?' 

"  I  told  him  what  my  business  had  been  and  who 
had  known  me  in  my  better  days  As  I  went  over 
name  after  name  he  listened,  and  when  I  mentioned 
that  of  Mr.  H ,  he  said, 

"'All  right.  I  know  H very  well.  He'll 

give  you  a  chance.' 

"And  so  he  did.  I  got  into  his  store  to  do 
some  odds  and  ends,  for  which  he  paid  me  five  dol 
lars  a  week  to  begin  with,  and  said  if  I  did  well  he 
would  increase  my  pay  or  help  me  to  get  another 
place. 

"  But  I  wanted  more  than  this  for  safety.  Em 
ployment  would  only  help  me  through  the  day,  but 
what  was  I  to  do  in  the  evening  ?  I  should  not  dare 
to  go  on  the  street.  In  every  square,  and  at  almost 
every  corner,  hung  red  alluring  lights.  I  could  not 
turn  my  eyes  in  any  direction  without  an  invitation 
to  drink,  and  appetite,  only  repressed,  not  destroyed, 

23 


266  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

would  arouse  and  plead  for  the  draught  so  long 
denied. 

"  My  friend  and  brother  knew  all  this,  for  he  had 
himself  walked  the  same  dreary  and  perilous  way, 
and  walked  it  safely.  He  knew  just  what  I  needed 
and  how  the  strength  to  keep  on  my  feet  must  come. 
So  he  said  to  me  on  the  morning  of  the  day  I  went 
to  work, 

" '  I  will  call  for  you  this  evening  at  your  board 
ing-house.  I  want  you  at  the  "  Blessing."  ' 

"  So  I  waited  for  him  after  supper. 

"As  we  walked  toward  Independence  Hall  he 
said,  '  Now,  brother  Oldham,  as  God  has  saved  you, 
you  must  gratefully  consecrate  yourself  to  the  work 
of  saving  others.  That  was  what  I  did.  I  was  just 
as  near  destruction  as  you,  and  in  my  weakness  and 
despair  I  looked  to  my  Father  in  heaven,  and  he 
helped  me,  and  as  I  felt  a  little  strength  of  purpose 
coming  in  answer  to  my  prayer,  I  promised  that  if  I 
were  saved  I  would  give  my  very  life  to  save  others, 
if  that  must  be.  And  so  as  soon  as  I  had  strength 
to  get  out  I  began  to  work  among  the  intemperate, 
and  my  heart  got  so  full  of  this  work  in  a  little  while 
that  I  had  stimulus  enough,  and  so  the  old  craving 
died.  Now,  what  I  want  you  to  do  to-night  is  to 
tell  in  the  "  Blessing  "  the  story  of  your  deliverance. 
It  will  come  home  to  somebody,  and  help  somebody. 
And  I  want  you,  if  you  see  a  poor  worn-down 
drunkard  drag  himself  up  and  sign  the  pledge  just 
as  you  did,  to  look  after  him  as  I  looked  after  you. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  267 

It  is  God's  cause,  and  his  strength  will  go  into  you 
if  you  put  your  hand  to  his  work.  It  will  make  you 
strong  and  brave.  You  will  soon  be  able  to  pass  the 
most  inviting  saloon  in  the  city,  and  not  feel  the 
smallest  desire  to  enter  its  fatal  doors.' 

"  I  went  to  the  '  Blessing '  and  told  as  best  I  could 
my  story,  not  without  tears.  The  whole  company 
was  greatly  moved.  I  saw  many  eyes  as  wet  as  my 
own.  As  I  sat  down  a  white-headed  man  rose  from 
his  seat,  and  coming  forward,  stood  by  the  railing 
and  faced  the  audience. 

"  '  Mr.  Chairman,'  he  said,  in  a  clear,  earnest  voice, 
and  like  one  used  to  public  speaking,  '  I  noticed  your 
sign  a  little  while  ago,  and  came  in  to  see  what  you 
were  doing.  I  am  an  old  worker  in  this  cause,  but 
not  in  your  city.  I  have  seen  a  great  many  men  sign 
the  pledge  and  a  great  many  break  it.  I  have  seen 
one  movement  after  another  gain  favor  with  the 
people,  and  then  lose  its  hold  upon  them.  I  have 
myself  lost  heart  many  times  and  felt  like  giving 
up.  They  that  were  against  us  seemed  more  and 
stronger  than  all  who  were  on  our  side.  Now,  I 
learn  that  in  three  years  over  two  thousand  five 
hundred  persons  have  signed  your  pledge.  Are 
they  keeping  it  ?  I  have  been  out  of  heart  with  the 
pledge.  I  have  even  gone  so  far,  sometimes,  in  my 
discouragement,  as  to  think  it  utterly  useless.  But 
I  stand  on  higher  ground  now.  I  believe  in  the 
pledge,  because  it  is  a  man's  act,  and  what  a  man 
does  always  gives  him  strength  beyond  what  he  can 


268  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

possibly  have  by  mere  willing  and  thinking.  The 
good  purpose  is  made  strong  by  the  good  act.  And 
so  every  man  who  has  signed  your  pledge  to-night 
is  stronger  for  sobriety  than  he  was  before,  and  more 
able  to  resist  than  he  was  before. 

" '  But  what  I  want  especially  to  say  is  this  :  The 
mere  act  of  signing  a  pledge  does  not  give  all  the 
strength  a  man  with  a  craving  appetite  requires.  It 
takes  from  him  a  sensual  enjoyment  that  has  been 
indulged  for  years,  and  gives  him  little  or  nothing  in 
its  place.  Good  resolutions,  as  we  all  know,  are 
weak  when  a  repressed  appetite  begins  to  assert  it 
self  and  clamors  for  the  old  indulgence. 

"  *  Shall  I  tell  you  how  to  supplement  the  pledge  ? 
— how  to  give  it  a  power  against  which  the  very  gates 
of  hell  cannot  prevail  ?  Let  every  man  who  pledges 
himself  not  to  drink  consecrate  himself  at  the  same 
time  to  the  work  of  saving  others.  If  you  have 
been  low  down — low  as  the  brother  who  has  just 
spoken — you  will  know  better  than  any  others  the 
need  and  peril  of  those  in  a  like  condition.  You  will 
know  that  they  must  be  wisely  cared  for,  helped  and 
encouraged,  and  you  will  be  more  patient  and  watch 
ful  and  tender  with  them  than  others  might  be.  Oh, 
brothers,  you  must  work  if  you  would  be  in 
safety. 

" '  Shall  I  tell  you  how,  in  this  living  and  working 
for  others,  there  are  strength  and  safety  ?  It  is  all 
very  plain.  A  child  can  understand  it.  Two  thou 
sand  years  ago  our  dear  Lord  and  Saviour  came 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  269 

down  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost — came 
down  to  the  lowest  and  the  vilest — came  down  vis 
ibly  to  the  eyes  of  men  and  invisibly  to  their  souls. 
He  withdrew  from  them  only  as  to  the  visible  and 
external,  but  remained  ever  after  invisibly  near — God 
with  us ;  a  present  help  in  time  of  trouble ;  a  Saviour 
and  a  deliverer,  a  guide  and  refuge  and  comforter  for 
all  who  look  to  and  desire  him.  You  all  believe  this. 
Well,  the  work  of  saving  men  is  God's  work,  and 
whoever  becomes  a  co-worker  with  him  gets  nearer 
to  God,  and  the  nearer  we  are  to  him,  the  farther  off 
we  are  from  hell  and  all  its  enticements.  Go  over, 
all  of  you,  to  the  side  of  God  in  the  work  of  saving 
men,  and  you  shall  surely  dwell  in  safety.  Make 
your  pledge  of  freedom  something  more  than  a  mere 
effort  to  save  yourselves ;  let  it  be  a  sign  that  you 
are  set  apart  to  the  work  of  saving  others. 

" '  It  is  because  this  is  not  done  that  the  pledge  so 
often  fails.  It  is  because  men  try  only  to  save  them 
selves,  not  caring,  it  may  be,  who  else  goes  to  ruin. 
Nearly  three  thousand  names  on  the  pledge-book  of 
the  "Temperance  Blessing!"  What  an  army  for 
work  and  battle  in  our  good  cause !  There  is  not 
one  in  this  great  army  who  might  not,  if  he  set  him 
self  earnestly  to  work,  rescue  some  poor  soul  from 
the  pit  or  hold  back  some  heedless  one  whose  feet 
are  wellnigh  slipping.  Brothers,  be  up  and  doing. 
If  you  would  be  in  safety,  give  yourselves  to  the 
work  of  saving  others,  and  you  shall  stand  secure, 
firm  as  the  everlasting  hills.' 

23* 


270  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  As  this  man  spoke  a  sense  of  power  and  safety 
pervaded  my  soul.  I  understood  him  thoroughly. 
I  saw  that  in  going  out  of  myself,  and  giving  will, 
thought  and  effort  to  the  work  of  saving  other  men 
from  misery  and  degradation,  I  would  be  lifted  so  far 
away  from  old  desires,  habits  and  associations  that 
they  could  have  little  or  no  influence  over  me.  And 
then,  too,  I  would  be  on  God's  side,  working  with 
Him  for  the  salvation  of  men,  and  being  on  His  side, 
nearer  to  him  and  so  farther  away  from  hell,  I  would 
be  encompassed  by  the  sphere  of  His  protection,  I 
would  be  safe,  not  through  the  power  of  the  pledge 
I  had  taken,  but  safe  because  His  arm  was  about  me. 

"From  that  hour  I  have  been  doing  all  that  I 
could  to  lead  men  out  of  the  paths  of  intemperance, 
but  especially  to  help,  sustain  and  encourage  those 
who  have  been  down  into  the  mire,  and  now,  with 
clean  garments,  are  trying  to  walk  in  safety.  I  never 
went  back  a  step.  The  old  appetite  often  returned, 
but  I  was  too  much  interested  in  my  work  to  give  it 
any  heed,  and  so  it  was  never  able  to  take  me  un 
awares.  I  soon  had  my  wife  and  children  again 
around  me,  and  to-day  I  do  not  think  there  is  in  all 
this  great  city  a  happier  home  than  ours." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

ONE  and  another  dropped  in  while  this  story  was 
being  told  and  drew  to  the  little  crowd  about 
the  speaker,  instead  of  coming  to  the  bar.  Lloyd 
was  almost  furious.  But  I  got  him  away  by  telling 
him  that  his  face  looked  dreadfully,  and  that  he  had 
better  go  up  stairs  or  home,  and  keep  out  of  sight 
for  a  while. 

Very  few  of  those  who  heard  the  story  called  for 
anything  to  drink  after  it  was  ended.  They  broke 
up  into  groups  as  they  happened  to  be  acquainted, 
all  talking  about  Phil  Oldham  and  the  "  Temperance 
Blessing." 

There  was  a  marked  falling  off  in  business  that  day. 
Not  many  men  came  in  from  the  bindery.  Most  of 
these  were  among  the  hardest  drinkers  in  the  estab 
lishment.  But  even  they  were  not  cordial  toward  us, 
as  of  old.  There  had  evidently  been  an  excitement 
about  the  assault  on  Jacobs,  and  I  gathered  that  a 
strong  feeling  had  been  aroused  against  us.  I  did 
not  imagine  this  would  last  long.  I  felt  pretty  cer 
tain  that  our  good  cheer  was  stronger  to  attract  than 
any  little  excitement  over  a  miserable  old  toper  was 
to  hold  men  away  from  our  tavern.  I  put  the  case 
here  as  it  shaped  itself  in  my  own  thoughts. 

271 


272  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

I  wasn't  very  far  wrong.  In  a  day  or  two  we  had 
in  nearly  as  much  custom  from  the  printing-office 
and  bindery  as  before. 

About  a  week  afterward  a  printer,  while  drinking 
at  the  bar,  said, 

"  Old  Jacobs  is  back  again." 

"  Back  where  ?"  I  inquired. 

"In  the  office." 

"  No !" 

"  Fact !  And  what's  more,  he's  as  sober  as  a 
judge.  Signed  the  pledge." 

I  laughed  incredulously. 

"  You  may  laugh,"  he  returned.  "  It's  all  so.  The 
old  man  looks  as  if  he'd  come  out  of  a  spell  of  sick 
ness.  But  I  tell  you  he  is  in  earnest — has  roped 
in  old  Wilson  already." 

"  How  roped  him  in  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Got  him  to  sign  the  pledge." 

"  Faugh !  They'll  both  be  as  full  as  their  skins 
will  hold  before  a  week  goes  over  their  heads,"  I  re 
plied,  with  some  contempt  and  a  good  deal  of  irri 
tation. 

"Will  you  take  a  bet  on  that?"  demanded  the 
printer. 

Before  I  had  time  to  reply,  another  printer  who 
stood  at  the  bar  said,  looking  at  me, 

"  There's  mischief  brewing  round  in  Harvey  street 
— mischief  for  ycu;  I  mean." 

"  Indeed !     Who's  at  the  bottom  of  it  ?" 

"Old  Jacobs." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  273 

I  thought  of  the  blow  he'd  received  from  Lloyd, 
and  made  answer, 

"I  guess  he'll  not  do  much  harm.  Can't  show 
any  special  damage.  But  anyhow,  it's  Tom  Lloyd's 
affair,  not  mine." 

"Oh,  'tisn't  about  the  assault-and-battery  case," 
was  returned.  "  It's  your  affair  just  as  much  as 
Lloyd's." 

"Out  with  it,  then!  Let's  have  the  worst;"  and 
I  put  on  a  mock  serious  air. 

"  He's  going  into  a  conspiracy  against  you — means 
to  cripple  your  business." 

"  Indeed !     Well,  tell  him  from  me  to  go  ahead." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  any  joke.  Jacobs  means  business. 
He's  going  to  get  every  man  in  the  establishment  to 
sign  the  pledge." 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  I  responded  in  affected  alarm. 
"  Then  I  guess  we'd  as  well  shut  up  at  once." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  healthy  for  your  business  if  he 
should  succeed,"  our  customer  said. 

"  No,  not  exactly,"  I  replied,  dashed  at  the  sug 
gestion  in  spite  of  myself.  I  remembered  at  the 
moment  what  I  had  heard  a  little  while  before  about 
the  self-consecration  of  a  few  reformed  drunkards  to 
the  work  of  saving  men  from  the  terrible  depths  of 
suffering  into  which  they  had  fallen,  and  out  of  which 
they  had  come  as  brands  plucked  from  a  fire.  I 
thought  of  the  three  thousand  men  who  had,  through 
the  efforts  of  a  single  earnest,  untiring  worker  in  the 
cause  of  temperance,  been  led  to  sign  the  pledge  in 

s 


274  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

less  than  four  years,  and  how  this  very  man  had 
lifted  old  Jacobs  out  of  the  mire  and  stood  him  on 
firm  ground.  Jacobs  was  strong  willed,  earnest  and 
resolute.  If  he  put  his  hand  to  work  like  this,  it 
would  have  to  move.  There  was  no  help  for  it.  For 
good  or  for  evil,  a  single  strong-willed,  restless,  per 
severing,  one-idea  man  often  exerts  a  vast  influence. 
I  understood  this.  The  old  pressman  I  had  despised 
and  almost  loathed  a  week  ago  now  commanded  my 
respect.  He  stood  before  my  thought  as  one  having 
power  and  influence,  and  I  will  confess  it  that  then 
and  there  I  feared  him. 

And  I  had  cause.  On  the  next  day  I  missed 
two  printers  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of  spending 
not  less  than  three  or  four  dollars  a  week  in  our 
saloon. 

"  Is  Tom  Hagan  at  work  ?"  I  asked  of  one  who 
came  in  from  the  printing-office  late  in  the  after 
noon. 

"  Yes,"  was  replied. 

"  Oh  !     Ah !     I  thought  maybe  he  was  sick." 

"  You  haven't  seen  him  here  to-day  ?"  I  saw  a 
comical  look  in  the  man's  face,  as  if  he  were  enjoy 
ing  something  at  my  expense. 

"No,"  I  replied. 

"Got  him,  too;"  and  the  man  laughed.  "Old 
Wilson  yesterday,  and  Tom  Hagan  and  Bill  Wines 
to-day.  Jacobs  is  a  whole  team.  No  getting  away 
from  him.  Pitched  into  me  this  morning,  and 
blamed  if  I  hadn't  the  hardest  time  to  get  away  from 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  275 

him.  Expect  to  be  caught  before  the  week's  out. 
Fact !" 

And  he  laughed  in  a  serious  kind  of  way.  It  was 
the  last  time  he  came  to  our  bar.  I  heard  of  him  on 
the  next  day  as  over  on  the  other  side.  Jacobs  had 
"  roped  him  in  "  also.  • 

The  tide  had  fairly  set  against  us  in  the  Harvey- 
street  establishment.  Day  by  day  we  missed  one 
familiar  face  after  another,  and  in  little  over  a  week, 
instead  of  our  forty  or  fifty  customers  from  the  bind 
ery  and  printing-office,  we  hadn't  much  over  a  dozen. 
Things  began  to  look  squally.  We  received  regular 
reports  of  what  was  going  on,  and  affected  to  laugh 
over  it  as  a  good  joke,  but  the  laugh  was  a  little  too 
far  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  mouth.  The  falling  off 
in  our  receipts  was  beginning  to  be  a  serious  matter. 
Something  must  be  done.  What?  We  were  en 
tirely  at  fault.  Our  best  customers  had  gone  over  to 
the  enemy,  and  still  the  defection  went  on,  until  we 
might  as  well  have  been  in  China  for  all  the  good 
Harvey  street  did  us.  A  nightly  band  of  music 
helped  a  little,  but  "  The  Retreat "  was  too  far  out 
of  the  way  to  gain  much  by  a  diversion  of  this  kind. 
Our  day  custom  had  fallen  off  until  it  was  hardly 
worth  keeping  open  for. 

Meantime,  an  association  called  the  "  Harvey- 
street  League  "  had  been  formed,  with  Jacobs  at  its 
head.  Its  members  not  only  pledged  themselves  to 
total  abstinence,  but  to  the  work  of  saving  others 
from  the  evils  of  intemperance.  They  had  already 


276  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

got  nearly  every  one  of  the  hardest  drinkers  in  the 
establishment  to  break  off,  and  were  standing  close 
about  them,  holding  them  up  and  giving  them  the 
strength  of  a  brotherhood. 

I  looked,  day  after  day,  for  the  return  of  old 
friends,  but  they  came  not.  Our  lunches  stood  al 
most  untasted  on  the  bar,  except  for  those  who 
dropped  in  from  neighboring  stores  and  manufac 
tories. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  was  often  asked  by  those 
who  missed  the  lively  crowd  that  usually  rilled  the 
saloon  from  ten  to  twelve  o'clock  every  day. 

"  Better  shut  up  this  place,"  said  one  of  the  few 
who  came  in  occasionally  from  the  printing-office. 
"  The  last  man  in  the  bindery  joined  the  league  to 
day,  and  only  six  printers  are  holding  back.  Jacobs 
will  have  them  before  a  week,  sure." 

"  It's  nothing  but  a  mere  spirt,"  I  replied.  "  Can't 
last  long.  These  things  always  die  out  in  a  little 
while." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "  how  it's  going  to  be. 
Good,  I've  heard  it  said — and  I  guess  it's  true — is 
stronger  than  evil  and  must  prevail  in  the  end.  And 
there's  no  getting  away  from  the  fact,  friend  Hiram, 
that  liquor-drinking  is  a  great  evil,  cursing  our  land 
in  all  its  length  and  breadth.  You  understand  this 
as  well  as  I  do,  and  perhaps  better.  You've  had  a 
chance  to  know.  Maybe  there's  going  to  be  a  new 
order  of  things.  There  certainly  is  a  great  rising  of 
the  people  all  over  the  land.  They  are  getting  ter- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  277 

ribly  in  earnest,  and  when  the  people  move  against 
anything,  it  must  go  down." 

I  pooh-poohed,  but  felt  uncomfortable.  It  might 
be  as  he  said.  As  to  the  evil  that  was  being  done, 
he  was  right  in  saying  that  I  knew  as  much  about  it 
as  he  did,  and  perhaps  more. 

The  movement,  under  the  lead  of  old  Jacobs,  did 
not  prove  to  be  a  mere  spirt,  but  took  the  form  of  a 
strong  and  effective  organization,  and  in  a  little  while 
changed  its  character,  and  became  aggressive  as  well 
as  protective.  It  was  in  vain  that  we  got  up  new, 
costlier  and  more  tempting  lunches.  We  had  "  game 
lunches,"  and  "  snapper  soup  lunches,"  and  "  kid 
ney  lunches,"  but  the  Harvey-street  men  were  on 
guard  and  watchful  over  each  other.  We  could  not 
draw  them  in,  and  it  didn't  pay  to  keep  up  this  style 
of  attraction.  The  lunches  cost  more  than  we  got 
for  the  drinks. 

All  this  had  a  bad  effect  on  Lloyd.  He  drank 
still  more  freely  and  grew  more  and  more  irritable. 
It  was  as  much  as  I  could  do,  often,  to  keep  him  out 
of  quarrels  with  men  as  irritable  and  full  of  liquor  as 
himself.  Our  lighter  business,  now  that  we  had  lost 
the  Harvey-street  men,  gave  him  an  excuse  for  being 
away  a  great  deal.  I  did  not  like  the  men  with 
whom  he  was  beginning  to  associate.  They  were  a 
fast,  reckless,  unscrupulous  set,  without  any  regular 
business,  ward  politicians  many  of  them,  and  some 
of  them  gamblers  by  profession. 

I  had  my  suspicion  that  Lloyd  was  losing  money. 

24 


278  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

There  was  something  in  his  silent,  brooding,  troubled 
manner  when  he  came  to  the  saloon  in  the  morning 
that  boded  no  good.  After  Maggy's  death  he  had 
lost,  apparently,  all  interest  in  his  family,  and  never 
spoke  of  them.  His  wife,  as  far  as  I  could  learn,  was 
a  sad  and  almost  broken-hearted  woman.  Tom  was 
going  fast  to  ruin,  and  she  had  no  power  to  hold  him 
back.  The  reader  already  knows  hcfw  far  along  this 
road  the  boy  had  gone.  Love  of  liquor,  as  well  as 
love  of  vicious  company,  had  both  done  sad  work 
upon  him.  The  taste  formed  in  his  father's  saloon 
had  been  fed  ever  since,  and  was  now  an  appetite 
against  which  he  opposed  no  restraint.  I  had  heard 
often  of  his  being  seen  with  half-tipsy  boys  and  men, 
as  much  the  worse  for  drink  as  any  of  them.  It  was 
because  his  father  knew  this  that  he  refused  to  in 
terfere  when  he  was  sent  to  prison  until  the  fine  for 
being  caught  in  a  cock-pit  was  paid.  His  "All 
right !"  which  seemed  utterly  unfeeling,  was  not  born 
wholly  of  anger  or  indifference.  The  lesson  and  re 
straint  of  a  few  days  or  weeks  in  prison  might,  he 
felt,  have  a  good  effect,  and  he  was  too  blind  with 
excitement  to  act  or  speak  in  any  other  than  the  way 
he  did. 

Three  weeks  had  gone  by,  and  still  Lloyd  gave  no 
sign  of  relenting  toward  his  poor  boy.  I  spoke  to 
him  about  it  two  or  three  times,  but  he  said  he  might 
lie  there :  'twas  a  safer  place  than  low  groggeries  and 
cock-pits.  I  would  have  paid  the  fine  and  got  Tom 
out,  but  I  didn't  care  to  take  the  responsibility  of 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  279 

going  between  him  and  his  father.  And  I  wasn't 
sure  that  a  few  weeks'  imprisonment  would  do  him 
any  harm.  It  might  do  good. 

One  morning  I  was  pleased  to  see  the  face  of  an 
old  friend  from  the  bindery.  A  great  many  dollars 
of  his  hard  earnings  had  gone  into  our  till — quite 
enough  during  the  past  two  or  three  years  to  have 
paid  the  rent  of  his  house.  You  think  this  a  pretty 
strong  statement?  Well,  count  it  up  for  yourself. 
Five  drinks  a  day  was  his  lowest  average.  At  ten 
cents  a  drink — what  he  always  paid  at  our  bar — the 
amount  would  be  fifty  cents  a  day,  or  a  hundred  and 
eighty  dollars  a  year. 

I  was  pleased,  as  I  said,  to  see  his  familiar  face. 
He  was  one  of  the  men  old  Jacobs  had  "  roped  in." 

"  Good-morning,  Fred.  Glad  to  see  you,"  fell  in 
a  hearty  greeting  from  my  tongue.  "  Thought  you 
were  dead  and  buried." 

"  Not  yet,  thank  God !"  he  answered,  with  a  grav 
ity  of  tone  and  manner  that  dashed  me  considerably. 
"Where's  Lloyd?" 

"  About  somewhere,"  I  replied.  "  Do  you  wish 
to  see  him  particularly  ?" 

"Yes."  His  eyes  looked  into  mine  coldly  and 
steadily.  I  did  not  feel  at  ease. 

Lloyd  came  into  the  bar-room  at  this  moment. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  our  visitor. 

"  Oh !  Good-morning,  Fred.  Glad  to  see  your 
face  again.  Thought  you'd  left  the  city." 

I  noticed  that  Lloyd's  voice,  which  was  hearty  at 


280  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

first,  toned  down  rapidly,  and  was  not  very  cheery 
at  the  close. 

"  I  have  a  note  for  you  ;"  and  the  man  handed  him 
a  letter,  watching  him  keenly  as  he  read  it.  My 
eyes  were  also  on  him.  I  saw  him  glance  at  the 
signature  and  then  knit  his  brows  in  a  hard,  angry 
way.  But  when  he  read  the  letter  a  change  that  I 
could  not  understand  swept  across  his  face.  It  was 
not  out-and-out  pleasure,  though  relief  of  mind  was 
plainly  expressed.  Twice  he  read  the  letter,  and 
then,  as  he  folded  it,  said,  in  a  repressed  voice, 

"Very  well,"  and  turned  away.  Our  old  cus 
tomer  eyed  him  curiously  for  a  moment  and  then 
went  out.  He  didn't  call  for  a  drink. 

Lloyd  made  no  remark  on  the  incident,  but  seated 
himself  at  a  table  with  his  back  toward  me  and 
leaned  his  head  on  his  hand.  He  sat  for  a  long  time 
like  one  half  asleep,  he  was  so  still. 

"  Hiram,"  he  called,  after  nearly  ten  minutes  had 
gone  by.  I  went  to  him,  and  he  handed  me,  without 
speaking,  the  letter  he  had  just  received.  I  opened 
it  and  read : 

"DEAR  FATHER:  Harry  Glenn  came  down  to 
the  prison  this  morning  and  said  if  I'd  take  the 
pledge  and  join  '  The  Harvey-street  League '  the 
men  would  pay  my  fine  and  Mr.  Ashley  would  give 
me  a  chance  in  the  bindery,  and  I've  done  it.  I've 
seen  Mr.  Ashley,  and  he's  spoken  kindly  to  me,  and 
says  if  I'll  go  to  work  and  do  right  he'll  be  my 
friend.  I'm  to  begin  to-morrow,  and  am  to  have 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  281 

three  dollars  a  week  now,  and  more  when  I  can  earn 
it.     I'm  sorry  I've  done  so  badly,  and  mean  to  be  a 
better  boy.     I'm  going  right  home  to  see  mother. 
"  Your  affectionate  son,  TOM." 

I  don't  think  I  was  ever  taken  more  aback  by 
anything  in  my  life.  I  read  the  letter  again,  and 
then,  without  saying  a  word,  handed  it  to  Lloyd  and 
went  back  to  the  bar.  A  customer  came  in  at  the 
moment,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  diversion. 

Lloyd  went  out,  and  I  did  not  see  him  until  the 
next  day.  He  came  in  about  ten  o'clock  in  company 
with  a  professional  gambler,  and  seemed  more  ex 
cited  than  usual.  They  went  up  stairs  together,  and 
I  did  not  see  them  again.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
Lloyd  made  his  appearance,  but  so  much  the  worse 
for  drink  that  I  had  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  of 
customers.  I  began  to  feel  very  much  troubled 
about  him — troubled  on  my  own  account  as  well  as 
his.  Our  interests  were  too  closely  bound  together 
for  one  to  make  sudden  shipwreck  without  damage 
to  the  other.  Three  years  of  liquor-selling,  profit 
able  as  the  business  proved,  had  not  made  either  of 
us  rich.  We  could  not  afford  to  retire.  Our  "  pile  " 
was  yet  a  thing  of  the  future.  Lloyd  was  in  the 
hands  of  a  set  of  men  who  would  rob  him  of  every 
dollar  he  possessed  with  as  little  compunction  as  we 
had  felt  in  our  work  of  getting  gain.  And  if  he 
were  utterly  fleeced,  and  involved  in  gambling  debts 
besides,  where  would  I  be  ? 

24* 


282  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Troubles  seem  never  to  come  alone.  Something 
occurred  almost  every  day  to  keep  my  mind  in  a 
worry.  A  year  before,  I  felt  safe  in  one  thing.  The 
main  chance,  as  we  called  it — that  is,  the  money 
chance — was  all  right.  We  were  heaping  up  our 
"  pile."  "  The  Retreat "  was  a  success,  and  no  mis 
take.  I  would  get  rich,  whatever  else  might  happen. 

But  I  was  beginning  to  feel  less  confident,  to  have 
uncomfortable  doubts,  to  be  conscious  of  a  weight 
resting  all  the  while  upon  my  feelings.  A  shadow 
of  coming  evil  had  fallen  on  my  path.  With  an  un 
accountable  unanimity,  temperance  men  had  aroused 
themselves,  and  were  showing  front  in  all  directions. 
No  movement  yet  attempted  looked  so  disastrous  as 
that  in  favor  of  "  local  option,"  or  the  right  of  the 
people  of  each  ward  or  county  to  decide  at  the  polls 
whether  they  would  have  bars  and  drinking-saloons 
or  not.  The  matter  was  often  discussed  in  our  bar 
room,  and  I  did  not  fail  to  observe  that  the  weight 
of  argument  as  well  as  sentiment  of  a  majority  of  our 
customers,  even  the  hardest  drinkers  among  them, 
was  on  the  side  of  the  new  movement.  There  was 
one  man  who  always  put  the  argument  in  this  form, 
and  I  never  heard  it  successfully  combated.  He 
said : 

"  Let  us  take  fifty  men.  They  settle  together, 
and  go  to  work  to  build  up  a  town.  Their  interests 
being  mutual,  they  meet  for  consultation,  and  adopt 
certain  laws  for  protection  and  government.  They  say 
the  freedom  of  the  individual  must  be  maintained,  and 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  283 

yet  the  good  of  the  whole  secured ;  therefore  every 
man  shall  be  permitted  to  follow  the  occupation  he 
chooses,  provided  it  does  no  harm  to  his  neighbor. 
The  carpenter,  the  baker,  the  merchant,  the  manu 
facturer,  the  tailor,  the  blacksmith,  the  gardener, 
and  all  who  produce  or  help  the  people  in  any  way, 
shall  be  free  in  their  callings.  But  no  business  that 
hurts,  depraves  or  in  any  way  injures  the  people 
shall  be  carried  on  among  us.  We  will  not  have 
dram-shops  and  liquor-saloons,  nor  gambling-hells, 
nor  obscene  shows,  nor  vile  publications,  in  our  town. 
No  man  shall  have  permission  to  get  gain  by  hurt 
ing  or  corrupting  his  neighbor,  and  if  any  violate  our 
laws  against  these  evil  things,  he  shall  be  punished." 

Who  will  say  that  this  community  of  fifty  men 
has  not  a  natural  as  well  as  a  civil  right  to  do  all 
this?  And  if  a  community  of  fifty  men  has  this 
natural  and  civil  right,  is  it  any  less  the  right  of  a 
community  of  a  thousand  or  of  five  hundred  thou 
sand?  As  just  said,  I  never  heard  the  argument 
answered,  and  could  never  answer  it  to  myself. 

"  You  can't  get  the  Legislature  to  pass  any  such 
law,"  was  boldly  affirmed  by  a  liquor  man  one  even 
ing  when  the  subject  of  a  "  local  option  "  law  was 
under  discussion.  "  I've  been  to  Harrisburg  a  good 
many  times,  and  know  the  ropes  about  as  well  as 
the  next  man.  Politicians  can't  get  on  without 
whisky.  The  liquor  interest  rules  the  State.  We 
have  too  much  money.  I  could  tell  you  a  thing  or 
two  if  I  chose.  It  was  tried  last  winter,  and  the 


284  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

temperance  men  thought  they  had  the  game.  But 
it  was  no  go.  It  cost  us  a  good  many  thousands  of 
dollars,  but  we  were  ready  to  put  down  twice  as 
much  more  if  need  be.  Why,  gentlemen,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  pass  a  local  option  law,  as  it  is  called,  and 
four-fifths  of  us  might  as  well  shut  up  shop.  Give 
the  people  a  right- to  say  whether  we  shall  live  or  no, 
and  it's  all  up  with  us.  I  don't  believe  there  are  five 
wards  in  this  city — maybe  not  one — that,  if  fairly 
polled,  wouldn't  vote  down  the  saloons." 

"  I'll  bet  on  that,"  returned  a  half-tipsy  customer. 
"  Hurrah  for  local  option  !  I'm  on  that  side.  Told 
Betsey  only  yesterday  that  I  was  going  for  that  ticket." 

"  And  what  did  Betsey  say  ?"  asked  one  who  was 
amused  at  the  man's  drunken  enthusiasm. 

"Why,  she  just  put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  and 
said,  '  Pray  God  the  time  come  soon,  Andy !'  And 
I  said  'Amen.'  I  hadn't  been  drinking  anything 
for  two  or  three  days.  But,  you  see,  one  can't  go  a 
square  without  being  tempted.  Tisn't  possible  for 
us  poor  devils  to  pass  a  hundred  or  more  saloons 
every  day,  and  not  feel  a  craving  for  liquor.  If  I 
were  off  in  the  country,  or  anywhere  out  of  sight  of 
your  man-traps,  I  could  keep  sober  as  a  judge,  but, 
confound  it !  it's  no  use  to  try,  with  your  gilt  signs 
and  red  lights  and  windows  full  of  bottles  staring 
me  in  the  face  at  every  turn.  Yes,  sir !  Give  us  a 
local  option  law,  and  we'll  vote  you  all  out  of  ex 
istence.  Hurrah  for  local  option,  say  I." 

"  It's  bound  to  come,"  said  another,  in  a  confident 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  285 

voice.  "  The  great  body  of  the  people  seem  to  be 
getting  awake  on  this  subject,  and  if  they  once 
move  against  anything,  it  must  go  down.  Rings 
break  into  helpless  fragments  and  combinations 
lose  their  power.  Nothing  is  too  strong  for  the 
people.  Whatever  exists  in  our  social  or  political 
organizations,  for  good  or  for  evil,  is  by  sufferance 
of  the  people.  They  set  up  and  throw  down  at 
will." 

"  They'll  never  stop  the  sale  of  liquor,"  was  an 
swered  to  this.  "  They  can't  do  it." 

The  response  was  so  weak  that  everybody 
laughed. 

"  What  is  to  hinder  them,  if  they  resolve  to  do 
it?"  some  one  inquired. 

"They  won't  stop  it.  They  can't  stop  it,"  was 
returned  in  a  dogged,  half-angry  way.  "  It's  a  free 
country.  It's  against  the  constitution.  I'd  like  to 
see  them  stop  me." 

I  didn't  feel  much  comforted  by  the  line  of  argu 
ment  taken  by  this  man. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

EVERY  day  the  aggressive  movement  of  the 
temperance  people,  was  becoming  more  and  more 
pronounced.  Morning  after  morning  I  read  in  the 
papers  an  account  of  some  ward  local  option  meet 
ing.  Petitions  were  being  circulated  asking  the 
Legislature  to  give  the  people  a  local  option  law, 
and  public  opinion  seemed  steadily  setting  in  that 
direction.  In  our  own  ward  this  movement  was 
very  active,  and  had  its  centre  of  influence  in  Harvey 
street. 

And  now  a  new  demonstration  was  begun.  There 
was  a  law  forbidding  the  sale  of  liquor  on  Sunday — 
our  best  day — but  it  had  been  for  years  a  dead  letter, 
because  the  people  themselves  were  indifferent  and 
suffered  us  to  violate  this  law  with  impunity.  Most 
of  the  constables  were  in  league  with  us,  and  so  no 
official  notice  was  taken  of  the  matter.  Now  and 
then,  under  pressure  from  some  judge  who  saw  and 
deplored  the  evils  that  sprung  from  this  Sunday 
traffic,  the  grand  jury  would  in  solemn  inquest, 
present  the  matter.  But  it  ended  there,  and  we 
laughed.  It  was  nobody's  business  to  see  that  the 
law  was  executed.  Mayors  were  appealed  to  in  vain. 
They  had  no  authority  to  shut  our  doors  or  close 

286 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  287 

our  windows.  Somebody  must  see  somebody  drink 
on  Sunday,  and  must  be  able  to  swear  that  what  he 
saw  drawn  or  poured  into  a  tumbler  and  drank  there 
from  was  actually  malt,  spirituous  or  vinous  liquor, 
and  he  must  swear  to  the  paying  of  money  for  the 
same,  or  else  there  could  be  no  conviction.  And 
even  if  all  this  were  sworn  to,  if  a  liquor-seller  could 
be  got  on  the  jury  conviction  was  impossible.  So  it 
had  been. 

But  there  came  signs  of  a  change.  It  was  the 
people's  business.  If  they- let  it  alone,  judges,  may 
ors  and  grand  juries  were  powerless.  But  the  peo 
ple  were  beginning  to  move — the  sleeping  lion  was 
arousing  himself.  Some  of  the  temperance  men,  in 
asking  for  more  legislation,  had  been  told  that  they 
already  had  laws  governing  the  sale  of  liquor  that 
lay  as  a  dead  letter  on  the  statute-books,  that  it 
was  useless  to  give  them  more  laws  while  they  did 
not  see  to  the  execution  of  what  they  had,  and  they 
were  referred  to  the  law  punishing  with  fine  and  im 
prisonment  the  sale  of  liquor  on  Sundays,  and  to 
minors,  and  to  known  drunkards.  While  there  were 
from  seven  to  eight  thousand  licensed  and  unlicensed 
taverns  open  in  the  city  every  Sunday  in  violation  of 
law,  what  encouragement  was  there  to  give  new  laws  ? 
See  that  the  laws  you  have  are  executed,  they  were 
told,  and  then,  if  further  legislation  is  needed,  let  us 
hear  from  you. 

There  was  no  getting  away  from  this.  It  bluffed 
off  the  temperance  men,  as  it  was  meant  to  do,  but 


288  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

set  some  of  their  leaders  to  thinking  in  the  right 
direction.  "  Let  us  take  what  laws  we  have,"  they 
said,  "  and  make  them  felt  as  far  as  they  go.  It  is 
our  fault  that  they  lie  dead.  The  Sunday  traffic  can 
be  stopped  if  we  will  it." 

And  so  they  went  into  council  to  consider  the 
ways  and  means  of  shutting  up  the  dram-shops  on 
Sunday.  We  heard  of  it,  and  laughed,  but  there 
were  some  of  us  who  felt,  even  as  we  laughed,  that 
our  enemies  were  deeply  in  earnest,  and  that  they 
were  combining  and  organizing  their  forces  in  a  way 
that  looked  dangerous.  One  of  the  worst  auguries 
that  showed  itself  was  the  change  that  had  come 
over  the  daily  press.  Papers  that  once  spoke  lightly 
of  all  prohibitory  movements,  that  picked  flaws  in 
the  sayings  and  doings  of  temperance  men,  that 
talked  of  sumptuary  laws  as  unconstitutional,  that 
favored  our  side  so  plainly  that  all  could  see  it,  now 
ranged  themselves  on  the  other  side,  and  entertained 
their  readers  with  prison  and  pauper  statistics  of  the 
worst  kind,  and  charged  on  us  the  responsibility  of 
filling  the  prisons  and  poorhouses  of  the  country.  I 
had  almost  come  to  feel  nervous  while  looking  over 
my  morning  paper,  for  hardly  a  day  passed  that 
some  story  of  rum's  fearful  doings  was  not  told,  and 
the  comment  thereon  was  sure  to  be  a  thrust  at  us 
as  the  worst  class  of  men  in  the  whole  community. 

So  long  as  the  daily  press  was  careful  about  what 
it  said  against  a  business  in  which  a  large  number  of 
wealthy,  respectable  and  influential  citizens  were  en- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  289 

gaged,  liquor  men  felt  no  serious  alarm.  Public 
opinion  was  formed  or  determined  by  the  press.  If 
the  press  did  not  favor  a  movement,  it  had  little 
chance  of  success.  If  it  opposed  the  movement,  it 
would  remain  feeble  or  die. 

But  the  press  was  steadily  ranging  itself  against 
us.  It  talked  of  the  fearful  weight  of  taxation  im 
posed  on  the  citizens  through  pauperism  and  crime, 
nearly  all  of  which  it  charged  upon  the  liquor-dealers. 
It  dwelt  on  the  social  and  political  demoralization 
consequent  on  the  traffic.  It  gave  reports  of  tem 
perance  lectures,  and  kept  its  readers  advised  of  what 
was  being  done  to  destroy  the  "  monster  vice,"  the 
"  deadly  cancer  that  was  eating  down  to  the  vitals  of 
the  nation."  Any  man  who  wanted  to  say  hard  and 
bitter  things  against  us  had  now  the  opportunity.  In 
a  word,  temperance  had  become  popular,  and  the 
papers  were  not  afraid  to  speak  out. 

It  didn't  look  well.  I  began  to  feel  as  if  we  were 
going  to  fall  on  evil  times.  Another  aspect  of  the 
case  was  threatening.  Our  judges  were  beginning 
to  show  their  teeth,  and  the  growl  of  the  Bench  was 
unmistakable.  At  every  good  opportunity  word 
went  forth  that  liquor  men  must  be  on  guard,  that 
they  would  be  dealt  with  summarily  and  severely  if 
they  should  get  tripped.  Constables  were  called  up, 
sternly  reminded  of  neglected  duty  in  the  matter  of 
unlicensed  dram-shops,  and  warned  of  consequences 
if  longer  derelict.  Grand  juries  were  charged  as  to 
their  duty  of  presenting  violations  of  law  by  saloon 

25  T 


290  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

and  tavern-keepers,  and  the  law  read  and  expounded 
to  them.  In  any  convictions  of  petty  offences  against 
the  license  law,  sentences  were  noticeably  severe. 
Juries,  too,  were  beginning  to  take  the  popular  side, 
and  lawyers  of  character  and  standing  in  the  com 
munity  were  coming  to  be  ashamed  of  law-defying 
liquor  men  as  clients. 

I  did  not  like  the  new  aspect  of  things.  It  boded 
no  good. 

One  Saturday  evening  a  printer  whom  I  knew 
very  well,  an  old  customer  of  "  The  Retreat,"  came 
in.  He  was  looking  remarkably  well,  and  was  bet 
ter  dressed  than  I  had  ever  seen  him.  His  skin  had 
a  fair,  healthy  look,  his  eyes  were  clear  and  his  step 
firm  and  manly.  I  could  not  but  remark  to  myself 
how  much  he  was  improved  since  I  saw  him  last. 
Then  he  was  slovenly  in  attire  and  sick-looking,  had 
rheumatism,  dyspepsia,  and  I  don't  know  what  all — 
one  of  your  miserable  sort  of  men,  fast  going  down 
hill.  He  was  one  of  our  old  eight-glasses-a-day 
men,  and  his  custom  worth  having,  of  course — spent 
at  one  time  nearly  half  he  earned  in  our  saloon  for 
drink. 

He  came  up  to  the  bar,  handed  Lloyd  a  paper,  and 
then  bowing  gravely,  went  out.  He  had  returned 
our  rather  cordial  greeting  very  coldly. 

"  What  in is  this  ?"  growled  Lloyd  as  he  un 
folded  the  paper.  He  ran  his  eyes  over  it  hurriedly, 
and  then  with  an  angry  imprecation  threw  it  on  the 
floor  and  spit  upon  it. 


Three  Yean  in  a  Man-Trap.  291 

After  waiting  until  he  had  cooled  a  little,  I  asked 
what  was  in  the  paper. 

"  Oh,  we've  got  to  shut  up  shop  to-morrow," 
Lloyd  answered  with  a  mocking  contempt. 

"  Who  says  so  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Our  good  friends  in  Harvey  street." 

"  Indeed  !"  I  was  angry  at  the  impertinent  inter 
ference,  and  yet  amused  at  what  seemed  its  comic 
solemnity.  Lloyd  stooped,  and  lifting  the  soiled 
paper  from  the  floor,  opened  it  with  the  tips  of  his 
ringers,  and  read  an  extract  from  the  law  forbidding 
the  sale  of  liquor  on  Sunday.  The  extreme  penalty 
was  fifty  dollars  fine  and  sixty  days'  imprisonment  for 
each  offence.  I  knew  all  this — had  the  law  at  my 
finger  ends.  Below  the  extract  was  a  notification  by 
the  "  Harvey-street  League  "  to  all  tavern-keepers  in 

ward  that  on  any  further  violation  of  this  law 

information  would  be  given  and  prosecutions  in 
stituted.  The  notice  was  signed  by  Andrew  Jacobs, 
as  president  of  the  league. 

"  We'll  shut  up,  of  course,"  I  remarked,  trying  to 
look  amused  and  affecting  to  treat  the  matter  as  a 
joke. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Lloyd,  with  a  snarl  of  defiance  in 
his  voice,  "at  twelve  o'clock  on  Sunday  night." 
Then  he  stamped  about  and  swore  frightfully. 

A  similar  notice  was  served  on  every  tavern-keep 
er  in  the  ward.  Some  were  frightened,  and  closed 
their  doors  on  Sunday,  but  we  paid  no  heed  to  it 
whatever.  Business  was  too  poor,  now  that  we  had 


292  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

lost  the  Harvey-street  custom,  to  justify  dropping  out 
our  best  day.  If  we  must  shut  up  on  Sunday  in  the 
present  state  of  affairs,  we  might  as  well  shut  up 
altogether. 

Lloyd  came  late  on  the  next  morning,  crusty 
and  moody,  as  usual,  and  went  away  before  twelve 
o'clock.  I  was  alone  at  the  bar  for  two  or  three  hours 
We  had  in  our  usual  Sunday  customers,  and  there 
was  considerable  talk  about  the  effort  that  was  being 
made  to  close  the  taverns.  One  man  had  counted 
twenty  places  in  the  ward  with  shut  doors  and  win 
dows.  I  noticed  during  the  day  several  men  come 
in  whose  faces  I  had  never  seen  before.  Some  of 
them  drank  and  some  did  not.  One  of  them  called 
for  a  glass  of  lemonade,  and  sat  down  with  it  at  a 
table,  where  he  read,  or  appeared  to  be  reading,  for 
at  least  half  an  hour.  I  watched  him  pretty  closely, 
and  caught  him  several  times  looking  over  the  top 
of  his  paper  at  men  who  were  drinking  at  the  bar. 

I  began  to  feel  uneasy,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do 
to  bolster  up  my  feelings.  What  if  I  should  really 
be  arrested  ?  The  thought  began  to  worry  me.  It 
would  be  bad  enough  to  go  into  court  as  an  offender 
against  the  law,  but  what  if  I  were  convicted  of  the 
offence  ?  The  fine  was  nothing.  But  sixty  days  in 
the  county  prison  !  The  thought  of  it  made  my  heart 
sink.  We  had  been  fairly  warned,  and  by  men  who 
were  in  earnest,  and  in  the  face  of  that  warning  had 
gone  on  in  open  defiance  of  the  law.  Such  thoughts 
began  crowding  on  me  as  the  day  declined,  and  all  the 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  293 

evening  I  had  a  feeling  of  worry  and  a  sense  of  dan 
ger.  I  dreamed  that  night  that  I  was  arrested,  tried, 
found  guilty  and  sentenced  to  ten  years'  imprison 
ment,  and  awoke  as  an  officer  put  his  hands  on  me. 
My  forehead  was  wet  with  perspiration.  I  never 
felt  such  a  sense  of  relief  in  all  my  life  as  when  I 
found  myself  awake. 

There  is  an  old  adage  that  dreams  go  by  contraries, 
and  I  tried  to  comfort  myself  with  the  thought  that 
this  dream  was  an  assurance  of  safety.  But  the 
comfort  was  very  small.  Lloyd  came  along  about 
ten  o'clock  on  Monday  morning.  His  first  act  was 
to  drink  a  large  glass  of  brandy.  I  noticed  that  his 
hands  were  unsteady,  the  glass  shaking  as  he  raised 
it  to  his  mouth. 

"  That's  bad,  Tom,"  I  remarked. 

"  What's  bad  ?"  he  asked,  turning  on  me  with  a 
look  that  said,  "  Take  care  !" 

"  The  way  you're  going  on,"  I  returned.  "  If  you 
don't  taper  off  a  little,  you'll  see  sights  before  long." 

He  looked  very  much  annoyed,  and  swore  between 
his  teeth.  After  that  he  was  moody  and  silent,  as 
usual.  He  helped  at  the  bar  for  an  hour,  and  then 
asked  me  to  let  him  have  five  hundred  dollars.  I 
had  some  money  in  bank,  and  he  knew  it.  I  had 
already  loaned  him  over  two  thousand  dollars  to 
complete  his  payments  on  a  lot  of  ground  purchased 
somewhere,  up  town.  He  had  promised  to  give 
me  a  mortgage  on  the  property,  but  had  not  yet 
done  so. 

25* 


294  Three  Years  in  a  Mart-Trap. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  five  hundred  dollars  ?" 
I  asked. 

"  Got  a  payment  to  make  on  some  property  I 
bought  last  week,"  he  answered,  not  looking  me  in 
the  face.  "  It's  a  great  bargain,  and  will  double  in 
value  in  a  year  or  two." 

"Where  is  it?"  I  inquired. 

"  Away  up  town,"  he  replied. 

"  You  haven't  given  me  the  mortgage  you  prom 
ised  on  that  other  property,"  I  said. 

He  fired  up  and  got  into  a  little  rage,  swore  con 
siderably,  and  wanted  to  know  if  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  swindle  me.  I  told  him  it  was  no  use  get 
ting  into  a  passion.  Business  was  business.  He 
had  already  borrowed  two  thousand  dollars,  and  so 
far  neglected  to  put  the  security  agreed  upon  into 
my  hands.  If  he  wanted  any  more,  he  must  first 
execute  the  mortgage.  I  kept  my  eye  fixed  steadily 
upon  him,  and  showed  by  my  manner  that  I  was  in 
earnest.  He  fretted  and  swore  for  a  while,  but 
cooled  down. 

"  I  must  have  the  money  this  morning,  Hiram/1 
he  said,  at  last,  in  a  coaxing  way.  "  Your  mortgage 
is  all  ready,  and  has  been  for  a  month.  I  didn't  know 
that  you  were  thinking  about  it.  I'll  get  it  for  you 
this  afternoon.  Give  me  a  check  this  morning.  I 
don't  wish  to  lose  the  chance  I  have  for  securing  a 
great  bargain. 

I  gave  him  a  check,  but  reluctantly ;  I  had  lost  faith 
in  him.  He  might  be  going  to  buy  a  property,  but 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  295 

I  had  my  doubts.  I  did  not  see  him  again  that  day, 
nor  the  mortgage  he  had  promised. 

Time  passed  on  until  the  middle  of  the  afternoon, 
and  the  nervousness  I  had  felt  since  morning  was 
beginning  to  wear  away.  After  all,  the  notice  we 
had  received  was  only  a  threat  meant  to  scare  us  off. 
Or  if  more  was  intended,  sufficient  evidence  had  not 
been  procured  to  warrant  the  commencement  of  a 
suit.  I  was  laughing  over  the  matter  with  a  custom 
er  who  had  referred  to  the  movement  against  the 
Sunday  traffic,  when  through  the  opening  door  ap 
peared  the  face  of  the  constable  who  had  served  the 
warrant  on  Lloyd  after  his  assault  on  Jacobs.  The 
laugh  died  in  my  throat.  He  came  up  to  the  bar, 
and  leaning  over,  said  to  me  in  a  low  voice, 

"  You're  wanted  round  at  the  alderman's." 

"  What  for  ?"  I  asked,  not  able  to  keep  my  voice 
steady  and  clear. 

"  Got  a  case  against  you." 

"For  what?"  . 

"  Selling  on  Sunday." 

"When  must  I  appear?" 

"  Now.     The  witnesses  are  all  present." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  I  had  to  go.  At  the 
alderman's  I  found  four  or  five  men  waiting  for  me. 
Three  of  them  were  old  and  good  customers  who 
had  drank  at  our  bar  every  Sunday  for  months  and 
months.  They  had  been  in  on  the  day  before,  and 
I  had  sold  them  liquor.  Had  they  turned  against  me  ? 
I  felt  my  knees  give  way.  If  that  were  so,  I  was  in- 


296  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

deed  in  peril.  The  case  was  opened,  and  these  three 
men,  who  had  been  seen  going  into  and  coming  out 
of  "  The  Retreat,"  were  put  on  oath,  and  against  their 
will,  I  could  perceive,  compelled  to  give  evidence 
against  me — compelled  to  testify  that  I  had  sold 
them  whisky  and  ale  and  beer  on  Sunday,  and  that 
they  had  paid  for  the  same  and  drank  it  standing  at 
the  bar.  Two  of  them  were  well-known  business 
men  with  families  of  grown-up  children,  and  the 
other  was  a  young  man,  the  son  of  a  well-known 
clergyman,  but  a  little  fast.  I  saw  that  they  were 
very  much  annoyed  at  their  position  and  the  dis 
creditable  notoriety  they  would  obtain  if  the  matter 
went  to  court  and  they  were  compelled  to  appear  as 
witnesses. 

The  alderman  had  no  alternative.  The  evidence 
was  too  clear.  I  had  to  give  bail  for  my  appearance 
in  case  the  grand  jury  found  a  true  bill  against  me, 
and  on  the  Monday  following  the  bill  was  found. 

The  Harvey-street  men  were  in  earnest.  They 
had  employed  a  good  lawyer,  and  instructed  him  not 
to  let  the  matter  sleep.  So  he  arranged  with  the 
district  attorney  for  as  prompt  a  hearing  of  the  case 
as  possible.  In  less  than  two  weeks  I  was  in  the 
prisoner's  dock,  with  all  eyes  in  a  crowded  court 
room  upon  me. 

In  the  mean  time,  our  liquor-selling  friends  had 
rallied  around  us  and  employed  counsel,  promising 
a  thousand  dollars  fee  if  the  case  went  in  our  favor. 
Lloyd  was  so  scared  that  he  took  to  drinking  harder, 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  297 

and  kept  so  full  all  the  while  that  he  was  of  little  or 
no  account.  He  was  under  bail  to  appear  in  court 
on  a  charge  of  assault  and  battery,  as  the  reader 
knows.  The  grand  jury  had  found  a  bill  against 
him  also,  and  his  trial  was  to  come  on  in  two  weeks 
after  the  day  fixed  for  mine.  An  effort  had  been 
made  to  compromise  with  old  Jacobs,  but  he  said 
the  matter  had  gone  out  of  his  hands.  As  much  as 
five  hundred  dollars  were  offered  to  settle,  but  it 
couldn't  be  done.  Our  enemies  were  determined  to 
drive  us  to  the  wall.  There  was  no  hope  but  in 
fighting  to  the  death. 

On  the  Sunday  following  my  arrest  "  The  Retreat " 
struck  its  flag,  closed  its  doors  and  windows,  and 
its  rooms  were  as  empty  and  silent  as  those  of  any 
store  or  manufactory  in  the  neighborhood.  I  did 
not  go  near  it  all  day.  I  could  not  bear  the  sight. 

The  case,  after  a  brief  examination  of  the  three 
reluctant  witnesses,  who  testified  clearly  to  facts,  but 
with  shame  marks  in  their  faces,  seen  and  noticed 
by  every  one,  was  argued  by  counsel  on  both  sides. 
The  prosecution  was  solid  and  strong,  the  defence 
intemperate  of  speech,  captious,  wild  in  its  range  of 
discussion  and  desperate  in  its  appeals  to  the  jury. 
But  through  all  I  saw  only  defeat.  The  law  and  the 
testimony  were  against  us. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  animus  of  the  Bench 
when  the  jury  was  charged.  "The  law  in  this  case 
is  very  clear,"  said  the  judge.  And  then  he  read 
the  section  prohibiting  the  sale  of  liquor  on  Sunday. 


298  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Laws  are  made  for  the  public  good,"  he  went  on, 
"  and  good  citizens  cheerfully  obey  them.  All  who 
violate  them  are  bad  citizens,  criminals  through  this 
violation,  and  must  be  punished.  This  Sunday  law 
has  for  years  been  treated  with  open  contempt,  and 
by  a  class  of  men  who,  not  satisfied  with  plying  their 
wretched  business  of  making  paupers  and  criminals 
during  six  days  and  six  nights  of  the  week,  licensed 
thereto  by  the  commonwealth,  keep  on  in  defiance 
of  law  through  the  seventh,  making  the  Sabbath  a 
curse  instead  of  a  blessing  to  thousands  of  their  fel 
low-citizens.  What  can  our  four  hundred  churches 
do  against  seven  or  eight  thousand  grog-shops  and 
drinking-saloons  ?  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  law 
in  this  case  is  as  explicit  as  words  can  make  it — 
clear  in  the  intent  and  plain  in  the  expression.  It  is 
a  good  law,  a  needed  law.  Its  violation  is  working 
the  saddest  evil  in  this  community.  I  need  not  am 
plify  here.  You  know  it  all  as  well  as  I  do.  Gen 
tlemen  of  the  jury,  if  the  evidence  in  this  case- 
has  proved  to  your  satisfaction  its  violation  by  the 
defendant,  you  are  bound  by  your  oath  to  convict." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE  jury  retired,  and  I  sat  for  half  an  hour  in  a 
state  of  miserable  suspense  it  is  impossible  to 
describe.  For  three  years  I  had  openly  defied  the 
law.  For  three  years  I  had  felt  as  safe  in  this  defi 
ance  as  if  I  were  obeying  it  to  the  very  letter.  I  had 
felt  strong  in  the  power  of  the  great  interest  I  rep 
resented,  and  laughed  at  what  seemed  the  futile 
efforts  of  a  few  fanatics  to  break  that  power.  But 
now  the  law  had  its  hand  upon  me,  and  the  grip  was 
iron-like.  I  felt  it  to  the  bone.  I  had  watched  the 
judge's  face  while  he  charged  the  jury,  and  saw  in  it 
no  mercy.  If  I  was  convicted,  nothing  could  save 
me.  Prison  !  To  be  locked  up  with  vile  criminals  ! 
I  shivered  as  the  picture  grew  vivid  in  my  thoughts. 

There  fell  a  silence  upon  the  court.  I  lifted  my 
head  and  saw  the  jury  coming  in.  My  heart  gave  a 
bound,  and  then  beat  like  a  hammer  in  my  breast. 
Perspiration  started  from  every  pore. 

After  the  jurymen  had  arranged  themselves,  the 
judge  said: 

"What  say  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury?  Is  the 
defendant  guilty  or  not  guilty  ?" 

The  foreman  rose.  I  held  my  breath.  "  Guilty !" 
he  said.  I  did  not  see  nor  hear  anything  for  several 

299 


300  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

moments.  The  court-room  appeared  to  be  turning 
round.  Then  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  arm.  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  touch.  It  was  the  hand  of  the 
officer  of  the  court,  and  I  was  a  prisoner. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  in  a  cold,  imperative  voice. 

Two  or  three  friends  had  been  around  me  during 
the  trial,  but  they  moved  off  now  with  changed, 
blank  faces.  I  arose,  thinking  I  was  to  be  taken  out 
and  conveyed  at  once  to  prison,  but,  instead,  I  was 
escorted  to  the  dock  in  the  centre  of  the  court-room, 
and  set  down  there  with  a  dozen  other  criminals  of 
all  grades,  sexes  and  colors.  This  was  a  humiliation 
I  had  not  expected.  I  looked  helplessly  toward  my 
counsel,  but  saw  no  assurance  in  his  face. 

"The  prisoner  will  stand  up,"  said  the  judge.  I 
arose,  striving  to  look  calm. 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar" — so  the  judge  addressed 
me — "  you  have  been  tried  for  the  breach  of  a  wise 
and  good  law,  and  a  jury  of  your  countrymen,  after 
hearing  the  evidence,  has  found  you  guilty.  It  now 
remains  for  me  to  declare  your  sentence,  and  in 
doing  so  I  shall  be  governed  solely  by  considera 
tions  of  public  weal.  Your  offence  is  a  very  serious 
one.  I  need  not  dwell  upon  its  character  here :  that 
has  been  fully  exposed  during  the  trial.  You  repre 
sent  a  large  class  who  have  been  long  engaged  like 
yourself  in  setting  at  defiance  the  law  for  a  breach  of 
which  you  are  now  to  be  punished.  The  public  con 
science,  so  long  and  so  strangely  indifferent  to  the 
evil  work  you  were  doing  in  open  violation  of  law, 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  301 

has  become  aroused  to  a  sense  of  duty.  The  people 
are  beginning  to  move,  and  the  court  hails  the  move 
ment  in  this  direction  as  the  beginning  of  better 
things.  Your  conviction  will  give  it  strength.  And 
now,  prisoner  at  the  bar,  I  pronounce  upon  you  the 
full  sentence  of  the  law :  Sixty  days'  imprisonment 
in  the  county  jail  and  a  fine  of  fifty  dollars.  I  trust 
that,  after  a  residence  there  of  two  months,  you  will 
come  forth  in  a  better  mind." 

As  the  judge  ceased  speaking,  I  sank  down  upon 
my  seat  in  the  dock  with  a  sense  of  disgrace  so  deep 
that  I  would  have  thought  a  prison  cell  a  paradise 
compared  with  that  crowded  court-room,  where  I 
was  the  observed  of  all  observers. 

"  Caught  at  last !"  said  a  chuckling  voice  at  my 
side,  a  hand  punching  me  in  the  ribs  at  the  same 
time.  The  mouth  that  opened  to  say  this  breathed 
into  my  face  a  rank  odor  of  whisky,  onions  and 
tobacco. 

"  Never  been  down  there  before,  ha !"  went  on  the 
voice.  "  Guess  you'll  find  it  a  little  dull  at  first,  but 
'tisn't  no  account  after  you  get  used  to  it.  I've  been 
there  twenty  times." 

I  made  no  response  to  this  familiar  speech  of  the 
dirty  vagabond  at  my  side. 

After  a  little  while  I  ventured  to  look  about  the 
court-room  from  my  new  position.  During  the  trial 
there  had  been  not  less  than  fifty  saloon-keepers 
present,  all  of  whom  watched  the  proceedings  with 
keenest  interest.  Many  of  them  had  come  around 

26 


3O2  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

me,  speaking  words  of  encouragement  and  saying 
that  they  would  stand  by  me  to  the  last,  that  any 
amount  of  money  would  be  put  up  to  defeat  the 
course  of  law.  I  could  not  find  one  of  these  men 
in  the  court-room  now.  They  had  all  deserted  the 
place,  and  I  was  in  the  dock  with  thieves,  vagrants 
and  criminals  of  all  degrees,  a  sentenced  prisoner. 

The  business  of  the  court  went  on,  and  I  had  time 
to  observe  more  carefully  my  companions  of  the 
dock.  One  was  a  stout  negro  who  had  been  sen 
tenced  to  a  year's  imprisonment  for  cutting  a  woman 
with  a  knife  in  a  drunken  brawl.  He  had  the  face 
of  a  wild  beast,  and  when  I  looked  at  him  his  eyes 
held  themselves  in  mine  with  an  expression  that 
made  me  afraid.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  ready  to 
spring  upon  me.  Another  was  a  boy  of  eighteen 
with  all  the  signs  of  a  dissolute  man  about  him. 
He  too  had  been  in  a  drunken  spree,  and  had  used 
a  knife  on  somebody.  Another  was  a  sneak  thief 
and  another  a  poor  wretch  degraded  by  drink  who 
had  been  pitched  into  the  street  by  a  tavern-keeper. 
His  offence  was  the  throwing  of  a  stone  through 
this  tavern-keeper's  window  in  revenge  for  the  per 
sonal  outrage.  And  another  was  a  poor  woman  who 
sat  with  her  face  covered  and  a  convulsive  sob  shak 
ing  her  whole  frame  every  few  moments.  She  was  an 
orderly  and  decent  person,  as  I  learned  afterward, 
but  poor  and  cursed  with  a  drunken  husband.  A 
sister  of  this  husband,  not  much  better  than  himself, 
had  come  to  her  house  one  day  and  abused  her 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  303 

shamefully.  She  had  borne  it  as  long  as  she  could, 
but  at  last,  exasperated  beyond  endurance,  had 
pushed  her  out  of  the  house.  Being  considerably 
in  liquor,  the  sister-in-law,  as  she  was  forced  upon 
the  pavement,  staggered  and  fell,  striking  her  head 
against  a  tree  and  cutting  it  so  that  it  bled  some  and 
left  a  scar.  For  this  the  poor  woman  had  been 
taken  from  her  children  and  sent  to  prison  by  an 
alderman  in  default  of  bail.  The  grand  jury  had 
found  a  bill  against  her  for  assault  and  battery,  and 
she  was  here  for  trial. 

As  the  woman  sat  with  her  face  concealed,  and 
the  intermittent  sobs  shaking  her  frame,  I  saw  a  man 
with  a  kind,  earnest  face  go  up  to  one  of  the  judges 
and  talk  a  little  while,  looking  every  now  and  then 
toward  the  dock.  I  noticed  that  the  judge  shook 
his  head  once  or  twice,  but  on  this  the  man  became 
more  earnest,  pressing  the  matter  under  consider 
ation,  whatever  it  was,  strongly  upon  him.  From 
the  judge  he  went  to  the  district  attorney,  and  con 
siderable  talk  passed  between  them.  I  saw  that  the 
district  attorney  was  not  favorable  to  his  plea,  what 
ever  it  was.  But  the  man  was  persistent,  arguing 
and  gesticulating  most  earnestly.  At  last  he  seemed 
to  prevail,  and  the  district  attorney  went  to  the  judge 
and  spoke  with  him  for  a  little  while.  Then  the  man 
laid  what  seemed  documents  before  them,  and  after 
they  had  looked  them  over,  the  judge  spoke  a  few 
words  to  the  man  I  have  referred  to,  and  I  saw  a 
gleam  of  pleasure  light  up  his  face.  The  judge 


304  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

wrote  a  line  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  the  man  came 
down  and  made  his  way  to  the  dock,  handing  the 
paper  to  the  officer  in  charge  of  us.  He  read  it  and 
nodded  assent. 

All  this  while  the  poor  woman  sat  like  a  statue  of 
despair,  with  her  face  hidden  from  view.  The  man 
came  into  the  dock,  and  bending  over  her,  said, 
kindly,  "  It's  all  right.  I've  got  it  settled,  and  you 
can  go  home." 

"  God  bless  you,  Mr.  Mullen,"  she  said,  lifting  her 
face.  It  was  pale  and  thin,  but  through  its  wasted 
tissues  and  sad  expression  there  broke  such  joy  and 
gratitude  as  I  had  never  seen. 

The  prison  agent — for  it  was  he — took  her  out 
quickly. 

For  two  hours  I  sat  in  the  dock  while  the  trials 
went  on.  One  after  another  was  convicted  and  sen 
tenced,  until  I  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a 
wretched  crew — thieves,  roughs  and  vagabonds  of 
the  meanest  class,  and  nearly  all  of  them  smelling 
of  whisky. 

At  the  end  of  this  time  we  were  marched  out 
upon  Sixth  street,  where  the  prison  van  and  a  crowd 
of  curious  men  and  boys  awaited  us.  There  were 
laughs  and  jeers  from  the  hardened  and  thoughtless 
as  we  were  thrust  into  the  van. 

"  Hallo !"  I  heard  a  voice  say  as  I  crossed  the 
pavement ;  "  there  goes  Hiram  Jones." 

How  my  cheeks  did  burn  and  tingle  ! 

Into  this  horrible  carriage  twenty  human  "beings 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  305 

were  thrust  and  the  doors  closed  upon  them.  My 
place  happened  to  be  alongside  of  the  negro  I  have 
mentioned.  Opposite  me  was  a  white  man  whom  I 
had  noticed  in  the  dock  as  acting  strangely.  He 
was  a  dirty,  ragged,  forlorn,  gutter  drunkard.  I  can 
not  better  describe  him.  The  negro,  too,  had  wor 
ried  me  a  good  deal  by  his  jerks  and  starts  and 
restless  throwing  of  his  eyes  about  as  if  in  dread  of 
something.  I  had  a  suspicion  of  mania.  Scarcely 
had  the  van  started  when  the  negro  gave  a  cry  and 
a  leap  upward,  striking  his  head  against  the  roof  of 
our  prison  on  wheels,  and  at  the  same  time  the  man 
opposite  sprang  from  his  seat  and  tried  to  rush  to 
the  lower  end  of  the  van,  his  eyes  starting  with  ter 
ror.  Cries  and  curses  filled  the  air.  Some  pounded 
on  the  door,  but  the  officer  in  charge  gave  no  heed 
to  us. 

The  negro  sat  still  for  nearly  a  minute  after  strik 
ing  his  head,  and  then,  as  the  white  man  struggled 
back  from  the  lower  end  of  the  van,  grappled  him 
with  the  savage  fury  of  a  maniac,  and  both  went 
down  upon  the  floor  of  the  vehicle,  where  they 
yelled  and  struggled  in  the  wildest  desperation.  It 
was  in  vain  that  we  pounded  on  the  door  for  help 
from  the  officer  outside.  Three  or  four  of  the  stout 
est  men  in  the  van — hard,  savage-looking  fellows — 
now  threw  themselves  on  the  two  struggling  mad 
men  and  held  them  down,  so  that  the  rest  of  us  were 
comparatively  safe.  I  shall  never  forget  their  awful 
cries  and  shouts  and  curses  while  I  live.  In  this 

26*  U 


306  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

way  they  were  held  down,  yet  not  without  violent 
struggles  to  get  free  that  sometimes  sent  the  men 
who  had  grappled  with  them  back  upon  the  alarmed 
and  cowering  inmates  of  the  van,  bruising  and  hurt 
ing  them,  until  we  reached  the  prison. 

I  never  supposed  that  I  would  feel  a  sense  of 
pleasure  on  entering  a  prison  door,  but  the  horrors 
of  that  ride  made  even  a  prison  welcome.  The  two 
men  crazy  from  drink  were  first  dragged  out  and 
made  secure.  I  heard  the  strange  order  given, 
"Take  them  to  purgatory,"  and  wondered  what  it 
could  mean.  Then  we  crept  forth  one  after  another 
in  the  stony  vestibule  of  the  prison,  and  each  was 
placed  in  a  cell.  Mine  was  at  the  west  end  of  a 
long  corridor  high  up  in  the  third  tier.  Before  I 
was  put  in  I  saw  them  write  on  a  slate  that  hung 
outside  and  close  by  the  door,  "  HIRAM  JONES. 
Selling  liquor  on  Sunday ;  sixty  days."  And  so  every 
visitor  who  passed  that  cell  could  read  my  name  and 
the  crime  that  brought  me  there.  Poor  Hiram  Jones ! 
He  had  never  counted  on  this. 

I  was  passed  through  a  low  iron  door  in  the  wall, 
stooping  to  save  my  head,  and  in  the  next  moment 
I  heard  the  door  shut  behind  me  and  the  key  turned 
in  the  lock.  For  a  while  I  stood  close  by  the  door 
looking  around  the  cell.  It  was  about  twelve  feet 
long  by  eight  wide,  lighted  by  a  narrow  opening  in 
the  wall.  A  bed  stood  in  one  corner,  and  there  were 
a  small  table  and  a  chair.  The  floor  was  of  wood. 
The  air  of  the  cell  was  pure,  and  I  soon  found  that 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  307 

the  ventilation  was  good.  But  what  a  different  place 
to  live  in  from  my  comfortable  room  at  the  hotel !  I 
tired  of  that  after  a  few  hours.  It  was  too  confined 
for  me.  How  was  I  to  live  here  for  sixty  days  ?  I 
felt  a  chill  creep  over  me  as  this  thought  crowded  in 
among  the  many  unhappy  ones  that  were  filling  me 
with  bitterness  and  dismay. 

And  so  it  had  come  to  this !  Three  years  of 
liquor-selling,  and  here  I  was,  a  disgraced  man !  I 
threw  myself  on  the  bed,  shut  my  teeth  hard,  closed 
my  eyes  and  tried  to  force  back  into  something  like 
calmness  my  agitated  feelings.  I  do  not  think  I  had 
lain  thus  for  over  a  minute  when  I  sprang  up  with  a 
shudder.  Such  a  cry  of  terror  and  suffering  as 
smote  upon  my  ears,  coming  apparently  from  one 
of  the  cells  across  the  corridor,  I  had  never  heard. 
I  shivered,  and  could  feel  the  hair  rising  on  my  head. 
In  a  moment  after,  the  cry  was  repeated.  It  was  full 
gf  the  wildest  terror.  Then  it  came  again,  more  like 
the  yell  of  a  wild  beast  than  anything  else.  I  sat 
motionless  and  breathless,  listening  intently.  I  could 
hear  voices  as  of  two  or  three  men  under  strong  ex 
citement  and  the  noise  of  violent  struggling. 

All  then  grew  still — so  still  that  I  could  hear  my 
watch  ticking  in  my  pocket.  My  forehead  was  damp 
with  sweat ;  my  hands  were  cold  and  clammy ;  I  felt 
as  weak  as  a  child.  I  sat  on  the  bed  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  hearkening,  but  the  silence  was  unbroken. 
Then,  exhausted,  as  one  after  a  long  and  severe 
effort,  I  fell  back  again  upon  the  bed.  But  scarcely 


308  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

had  my  head  touched  the  pillow  when  a  wail  of  an 
guish  smote  my  ears  that  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 
Only  the  extremest  torture  could  have  wrung  such 
a  cry  from  mortal  lips.  It  was  a  mingling  of  terror 
and  pain  wrought  up  to  their  intensest  expression. 
Then,  as  I  listened  with  keenest  attention,  I  could 
hear  curses  and  words  of  deprecation  and  pleading, 
followed  by  renewed  cries  of  agony. 

I  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  so  thrust  my  fingers 
into  my  ears  to  keep  out  the  fearful  sounds.  But 
whenever  I  removed  them,  the  dreadful  cries  would 
be  heard.  So  it  went  on,  with  brief  pauses,  for  nearly 
two  hours,  the  strain  on  my  nerves  becoming  so  great 
that  I  felt  sick  and  faint.  Between  five  and  six  o'clock 
I  heard  a  rumbling,  as  of  a  light  wagon  coming  along 
the  corridor.  It  stopped  every  little  while,  and  then 
came  on  again,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer.  At  last 
it  was  opposite  my  cell.  I  looked  toward  the  door 
and  saw  a  little  square  place  near  the  top  drawn  open 
outward,  and  then  a  small  tin  basin  containing  some 
liquid,  which  I  found  to  be  chocolate,  and  a  piece  of 
bread,  were  pushed  in  through  the  opening. 

I  came  forward  and  took  them,  saying  as  I  did 
so, 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what's  the  matter  over  there  ?" 

"  Purgatory  got  the  rams,"  was  the  brief  answer, 
and  the  little  opening  was  shut  with  a  sharp  click. 

I  put  the  basin  of  chocolate  and  piece  of  bread  on 
the  table  and  sat  down.  "  Purgatory  got  the  rams !" 
I  said,  taking  a  deep  shuddering  breath  as  the  truth 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  309 

dawned  upon  my  mind.  I  understood  now  the 
meaning  of  those  dreadful  cries. 

"  Take  them  to  purgatory,"  had  been  said  of  the 
two  men  with  mania-a-potu  as  they  were  taken  from 
the  prison-van,  and  it  was  no  doubt  the  horrible 
ravings  and  struggles  of  one  or  both  of  them  that  I 
had  heard.  "  Purgatory  !"  Well  might  the  chamber 
of  despair  in  which  were  thrust  the  poor  wretches 
assaulted  by  rum  demons  be  called  "  purgatory !" 

I  was  sick  at  heart.  By  this  time  the  wails  and 
shrieks  from  across  the  corridor  had  ceased,  the  un 
happy  maniacs  having  been  drugged  into  quietude, 
perhaps  stupor. 

My  supper  of  weak  chocolate  and  dry  bread  re 
mained  untasted.  It  would  have  taken  daintier  food 
than  that  to  tempt  my  appetite. 

As  the  darkness  came  on  and  I  sat  lonely  and  de 
pressed  in  my  cell,  a  few  faint  rays  of  light  creeping 
in  through  a  small  opening  from  the  corridor,  a  troop 
of  miserable  thoughts  came  like  fiends  to  worry  and 
torment  me.  I  too  was  in  purgatory — a  purgatory 
of  my  own — and  in  spirit  I  cried  out  from  pain  and 
torture.  It  was  coming  out  too  sadly  true,  and  in 
my  own  case,  that  the  traffic,  as  I  had  so  often  heard 
it  said,  was  accursed,  and  its  harvests  deadly.  I  had 
not  cared  much  for  the  consequences  that  might  fall 
on  others,  but  now  the  curses  had  come  home.  I 
was  in  the  fire  of  retribution,  and  it  made  a  vast  dif 
ference. 

I  did  not  sleep  much  that  night.     Every  time  I 


3io  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

lost  myself  the  screams  of  some  wretch  in  "  purga 
tory  "  would  startle  me  into  wakefulness.  Morning 
found  me  nervous  and  feverish.  I  tried  to  eat  my 
breakfast  of  tea  and  bread,  but  could  get  down  only 
a  few  mouthfuls. 

All  that  day  I  paced  at  intervals  my  narrow  cell, 
chafed  and  restless  as  a  wild  animal,  or  tried  vainly, 
lying  face  down  upon  my  bed,  to  stop  the  procession 
of  tormenting  thoughts.  For  dinner  I  had  soup  and 
bread  and  a  small  piece  of  meat.  I  could  not  do 
much  with  it.  About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
I  heard  a  voice  outside  of  my  cell,  then  the  thrusting 
of  a  key  into  the  lock  and  the  opening  of  the  outer 
door.  A  hand  pushed  inward  the  inside  grated 
door,  and  a  slender  youth  stepped  in.  Then  the 
clang  of  doors  and  turning  of  the  lock  followed,  and 
we  were  alone.  I  looked  at  my  fellow-prisoner. 

"Tom!" 

"  Hiram !" 

We  both  exclaimed  in  mutual  surprise.  It  was 
Lloyd's  son,  Tom. 

"  What  has  brought  you  here  ?"  I  asked. 

There  was  a  look  of  deep  distress  in  the  boy's 
face.  He  had  been  taken  out  of  prison  only  a  little 
while  before  under  promise  of  signing  the  pledge, 
which  he  had  done,  and  gone  to  work  in  the  Harvey- 
street  bindery. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  to  see  you  here,  Tom,"  I  said. 
"  I  had  hoped  for  better  things." 

"  So  had  I,"  he  answered.     "  But  there  isn't  any 


TJiree   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  311 

chance  for  me,  Hiram.  I've  got  a  bad  name,  and 
there's  the  end  of  it." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Nothing  to  bring  me  here,"  he  replied,  looking 
at  me  steadily. 

"  Then  why  are  you  here  ?" 

"  Because  I've  got  a  bad  name." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said,  pitying  the  poor  boy 
from  my  heart.  I  had  always  liked  Tom. 

"  I  signed  the  pledge,  you  know,"  he  began. 

"Yes." 

"  And  I've  kept  it  so  far.  Mr.  Ashley  gave  me  a 
place  in  the  bindery,  and  I've  been  at  work  every 
day.  Well,  you  see,  the  Harvey  street  men  are  in 
earnest  about  shutting  up  the  liquor-shops  on  Sun 
day.  They  don't  want  the  trouble  of  bringing  the 
tavern-keepers  into  court  and  fining  them  if  they  can 
help  it,  and  so  are  sending  round  notices  again, 
warning  them  to  keep  the  law,  and  hoping  they  will 
take  heed.  To-day  I  was  sent  to  serve  a  notice  on 
Crangle,  who  keeps  the  saloon  just  out  of  Sixth 
street :  you  know  where  it  is.  I  went  in  and  gave  it 
to  Crangle,  and  he  threw  it  in  my  face  and  gave  me 
a  cuff  on  the  side  of  my  head.  I  couldn't  stand 
that.  I'm  quick  and  fiery,  you  know.  If  I'd 
stopped  to  think,  I  wouldn't  have  done  it,  but  I  was 
so  mad  that  I  wasn't  myself.  In  a  flash  a  tumbler 
went  past  his  head  and  smashed  in  among  the  de 
canters.  I  ran,  but  they  caught  me  before  I  could 
get  out  and  took  me  round  to  the  alderman's.  They 


312  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

swore  against  me,  and  had  a  witness  to  say  that  he 
knew  me,  and  that  I  was  the  worst  boy  in  town  and 
just  out  of  prison.  So  the  alderman  made  out  a 
commitment.  I  asked  if  somebody  wouldn't  go 
round  and  get  father  to  come  and  be  bail  for  me. 
But  Crangle  laughed,  and  said  father  was  under  bail 
himself  to  appear  at  court  and  couldn't  be  taken ;  so 
I  was  brought  down  here." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  send  round  to  the  bindery  ? 
The  men  would  have  stood  by  you,"  I  said. 

"  Maybe  so,  and  maybe  not,"  Tom  replied,  gloom 
ily.  "  I'm  only  on  trial  there." 

"  Well,  suppose  you  are  ?" 

"  They'd  have  thought  I'd  taken  a  glass  and  got 
into  a  spree.  But  I  didn't  touch  anything.  It  was 
all  just  as  I've  told  you." 

And  the  poor  boy  put  his  face  down  between  his 
hands. 

;<  How  are  things  going  on  at  home,  Tom  ?"  I 
asked,  after  a  while.  He  looked  up.  His  eyes  were 
sad  and  troubled.  His  mouth  twitched  slightly  as 
he  began  speaking,  and  his  voice  was  low  and 
mournful. 

"  Not  very  well,"  he  replied. 

"  How  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  Poorly." 

"Has  she  been  sick ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly.  But  she's  out  of  sorts,  like, 
'most  all  the  while,  and  she's  had  enough  to  make 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  313 

her  so.  I  thought  maybe  I'd  be  some  comfort  to 
her,  but  it's  all  over  now." 

His  voice  choked  a  little. 

"  I'll  not  be  home  to-night,  you  see,  and  she'll  be 
sure  I've  gone  off  in  my  old  ways,  and  it  will  put 
her  in  bed.  Oh  dear !  I  wish  I'd  died  when  I  was  a 
baby." 

And  the  poor  boy  burst  out  crying.  How  I  did 
pity  him  !  After  he  had  grown  calm,  I  said, 

"  Is  your  father  much  at  home  ?" 

Tom  shook  his  head  as  he  replied, 

"  We  never  see  him  except  at  breakfast-time,  and 
not  often  then.  He  don't  come  in  until  long  after 
we're  in  bed." 

"  How  is  he  in  the  morning  ?" 

"  Not  right.  It's  as  much  as  he  can  do  to  get  a 
cup  of  coffee  to  his  mouth,  his  hand  shakes  so.  But 
he  don't  often  come  down  until  we're  all  done 
breakfast." 

"  Has  he  said  anything  to  you  since  you  signed 
the  pledge  ?" 

"  No ;  hasn't  even  spoken  to  me." 

"  I'm  glad  you  signed  it,  Tom,"  I  could  not  help 
saying.  "And  you  must  stick  to  it.  No  good 
ever  comes  of  drinking,  and  often  a  great  deal  of 
harm." 

He  looked  up  at  me  with  a  sudden  surprise  in  his 
face,  then  answered  slowly, 

"  Yes,  Hiram,  a  great  deal  of  harm.  It  was  a  bad 
day  for  us  when  you  and  father  set  up  'The  Re- 
27 


314  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

treat.'  Nothing  has  gone  right  since.  It  was  the 
death  of  poor  Maggy,  and  has  'most  killed  mother." 

He  paused,  and  I  added,  with  the  bitterness  I  felt, 
"And  has  put  you  and  me  in  prison."  The  boy 
sighed  heavily. 

At  this  moment,  piercing  the  air  sharply,  came  a 
howl  of  fear  from  across  the  corridor.  Tom  started 
and  turned  pale. 

"  What  is  that,  Hiram  ?"  he  asked,  with  quivering 
lips. 

"  Some  poor  fellow  with  mania,"  I  replied. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  dreadful !" 

Another  and  more  prolonged  cry,  full  of  pain 
and  terror,  smote  upon  our  ears,  and  we  could  hear 
struggling  in  the  cells  opposite.  Tom's  face  grew 
whiter. 

For  nearly  an  hour  we  had  to  listen  to  these  awful 
cries.  Then  they  died  away,  and  we  were  thankful 
for  the  silence  that  followed.  We  had  commenced 
talking  again,  when  we  heard  some  one  unlocking 
our  cell  door.  It  was  swung  open,  and  the  man  I 
had  seen  in  the  court-room  that  morning  stepped  in. 

"  Sorry  to  see  you  here  again,"  he  said,  in  a  kind 
voice,  speaking  to  Tom.  "  Thought  you  were  going 
to  sign  the  pledge  and  be  a  better  boy  ?  What's  the 
matter?  What  are  you  here  for  now?" 

Tom  told  his  story,  which  was  listened  to  atten 
tively.  When  he  had  finished,  I  said, 

"  You  may  believe  every  word  he  says,  Mr.  Mul 
len.  I  know  him." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  315 

"  You  do  ?"  and  the  agent  turned  on  me  quickly. 
"  How  came  you  to  know  him  ?" 

<;  I  am  in  business  with  his  father,"  I  replied,  not 
stopping  to  think  what  the  business  was. 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?"  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  so 
steadily  that  I  had  to  look  away  from  him.  "Then 
all  I  have  to  say  about  it  is,  that  it's  a  very  bad 
business." 

I  turned  from  him  abashed. 

"  And  you've  been  a  good,  sober  boy  since  you 
left  here  ?"  said  Mr.  Mullen,  the  old  kindness  and  in 
terest  coming  back  into  his  voice  as  he  turned  to 
Tom. 

"  Haven't  touched  a  drop  of  liquor.  You  can  ask 
them  at  the  bindery.  Mr.  Ashley  will  tell  you.  Oh, 
Mr.  Mullen,  if  there's  any  way  to  get  me  out  before 
mother  knows  it —  It  will  be  dreadful  for  her.  I'm 
all  the  hope  she  has  now.  Oh,  Mr.  Mullen,  help  me 
if  you  can ;"  and  he  burst  out  crying. 

"  There  !  there  !  Don't  take  on  about  it,"  said  the 
agent,  kindly.  "  I'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

He  drew  hrs  watch  out  from  his  pocket  and  looked 
at  the  time,  stood  thinking  for  a  few  moments  and 
then  said,  with  a  twinkle  of  humor  in  his  eyes, 

"  If  I  go  your  bail,  you  won't  go  back  on  me  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  die  for  it !"  answered  Tom,  quickly. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  I  spoke  up.  "  I'll  make  it  all 
right." 

He  gave  me  a  look  that  said  plainly  enough,  "  I'd 
rather  take  the  boy's  word  than  your  bond !" 


316  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

I  turned  away  hurt  and  abashed.  I  was  only  a 
liquor-seller,  capable  in  his  eyes  of  any  baseness ! 

"  Very  well.  I'll  see  the  alderman,  and  you  shall 
be  with  your  mother  by  six  o'clock,"  said  the  agent, 
and  he  went  away. 

In  about  an  hour  he  came  back. 

"All  right!"  he  said,  cheerily,  as  he  entered  the 
cell  again.  He  did  not  take  any  notice  of  me,  and 
was  going  out  with  Tom  when  I  put  my  hand  on 
him,  saying, 

"Won't  you  come  and  see  me,  sir?  I'd  like  to 
talk  with  you." 

"  What  about  ?"  he  asked,  coldly. 

I  dare  not  say  why  1  wished  to  see  him,  for  were 
I  to  do  so,  I  felt  that  he  might  deny  me  wholly.  I 
wanted  his  influence  to  get  me  out. 

"  A  good  many  things,"  I  answered,  evasively. 

"Very  well.  I'm  the  prisoner's  friend,  and  if  I 
can  help  you  any  shall  be  glad  to  do  so." 

And  he  went  out  with  the  boy,  leaving  me  lone 
lier  and  more  depressed  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I  SLEPT  but  little  that  night.  The  horrors  of 
"  purgatory  "  kept  me  awake. 

I  looked  for  Mr.  Mullen  all  the  next  day,  but  he 
did  not  come.  I  heard  his  voice  in  the  corridor  two 
or  three  times  during  the  afternoon,  but  he  passed 
my  cell  without  calling.  A  whole  week  of  impris 
onment,  and  I  had  not  seen  him  again.  I  was  losing 
heart.  There  was  no  hope  for  me  if  I  could  not  get 
him  to  take. up  my  case.  Lloyd,  to  my  surprise  and 
indignation,  had  not  come  near  me.  "  I  might  die 
like  a  dog,  for  all  he  cared,"  I  said  to  myself.  Nor 
had  any  other  of  my  many  friends.  I  was  left  alone 
in  my  calamity. 

I  was,  besides,  greatly  troubled  about  my  affairs. 
Lloyd  had  borrowed  nearly  all  my  ready  money, 
and  I  more  than  feared  its  loss  in  gambling.  He 
was  too  much  under  the  influence  of  liquor  all  the 
while  to  be  any  match  for  the  sharpers  who  had  him 
in  hand.  If  I  could  not  get  out  of  this  horrid  place 
in  less  than  two  months,  everything  would  go  to 
ruin.  He  was  in  danger  of  being  cleaned  out  at  any 
moment — would  be,  I  doubted  not,  before  I  could  be 
at  hand  to  save  myself.  Then  there  was  the  assault- 
and-battery  case  to  be  tried  in  a  day  or  two.  He 
27*  317 


318  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

might  be  sent  down  here  for  six  or  nine  months,  and 
who  was  to  take  care  of  things  until  I  could  get  out  ? 
I  chafed  and  worried  and  tormented  myself  with 
evil  forebodings  helplessly  and  fruitlessly. 

One  afternoon,  a  little  over  a  week  after  my  sen 
tence,  I  heard  the  key  turn  in  my  cell  door.  It 
opened,  and  the  prison  agent  came  in.  I  did  not  read 
the  kindness  and  sympathy  in  his  face  that  I  had  seen 
there  when  he  interceded  for  the  poor  woman  in  court 
and  when  he  spoke  to  Tom  Lloyd. 

"  You  don't  find  this  quite  as  pleasant  as  a  room 
in  the  Girard,"  he  said,  betraying  a  little  sarcasm  in 
his  tones. 

"Not  quite/'  I  replied,  forcing  as  much  indiffer 
ence  into  my  voice  as  was  possible. 

"  Nor  are  your  fellow-lodgers  as  agreeable,"  he 
added,  giving  his  head  a  nod  toward  the  corridor. 
I  understood  him,  and  felt  irritated — would  have 
answered  roughly,  but  dared  not  do  so,  for  I  wanted 
him  to  befriend  me. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  replied. 

"  I've  been  too  much  occupied  in  looking  after  the 
poor  creatures  rum  has  brought  here  to  see  you  be 
fore.  And  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

I  saw  no  hope  in  his  face.  It  wore  a  cold  severity 
that  seemed  a  stranger  to  it. 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  can  or  will  do  anything," 
I  replied,  with  the  bitterness  I  felt.  "  Men  like  you 
don't  have  much  charity  for  us." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  319 

why  should  we?"  he  asked,  a  softer  tone 
coming  into  his  voice.  "  You  are  not  on  our  side. 
While  we  are  trying  to  help  and  save,  you  are  hurt 
ing  and  destroying." 

"  You  judge  us  too  harshly,"  I  said. 

"  By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them,"  he  replied. 
"  What  brought  to  prison  the  poor  boy  I  found  in 
your  cell  a  week  ago  ?" 

I  let  my  eyes  fall  from  his.  It  was  his  father's 
work  and  mine — indirectly,  but  as  surely  our  work 
as  if  we  had  of  purpose  corrupted  him.  I  saw  it  all 
in  a  flash  of  perception. 

"  There  are  now  in  this  place,  convicted  or  await 
ing  trial,  over  eight  hundred  persons,"  he  went  on. 
"  Of  these,  nearly  four-fifths  were  sent  to  prison  for 
crimes  or  misdemeanors  committed  while  under  the 
influence  of  liquor." 

"  It  is  easy  to  charge  upon  liquor  every  crime  in 
the  calendar,"  I  replied. 

"The  exceptions  are  few,"  he  returned.  "We 
who  have  much  to  do  with  paupers  and  criminals 
have  the  best  opportunity  for  knowing.  Let  me  re 
peat  to  you,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remember  them,  a 
few  sentences  from  a  memorable  charge  made  by 
Judge  Paxson  to  the  grand  jury.  He  said,  '  No  one 
can  sit  for  a  week  in  this  court,  and  observe  closely 
the  vast  amount  of  criminal  business  transacted  here, 
without  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  at  least  three- 
fourths  of  all  the  crimes  committed  in  this  city  are 
the  results,  directly  or  indirectly,  of  intemperance. 


320  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

This  is  an  appalling  fact.     From  this  poisoned  foun 
tain  flow  out  the  streams  which  fill  our  prisons  with 
convicts  and  our  almshouses  with  poor.     Nor  is  this 
remark  true  only  of  the  lowest  rank  of  crime.     It 
applies  with  equal  force  to  the  highest  grade.     In  a 
large  proportion  of  the  homicide  cases  the  primary 
cause  is  whisky,  or  some  wretched  compound  in  imi 
tation  thereof.    This  is  "  the  pinion  which  impels  the 
steel."     Maddened  by  its  use,  men  who  in  its  absence 
would  be  peaceable  citizens  and  kind  husbands  and 
fathers  become  brutes  in  the  domestic  circle  and  out 
laws  in  society.     I  have  been  sitting  for  the  last  three 
weeks  in  the  oyer  and  terminer.     During  that  time 
eight  cases  of  homicide  have  been  tried.     With  a 
single  exception,  the  evidence  disclosed  the  melan 
choly  fact  that  intoxicating  drink  was  either  a  direct 
cause  of  the  crime  or  a  potent  agent  in  producing  it. 
This  fearful  plague-spot   has   been  spreading    with 
great  rapidity  for  many  years.     In   1847,  as  I  am 
informed  by  Mr.  Mullen,  the  efficient  prison  agent, 
the  number  of  persons  committed  to  the  Philadel 
phia  county  prison  for  drunkenness,  upon  the  charges 
of  vagrancy,  disorderly  conduct  and  breaches  of  the 
peace,  was  two  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty-two; 
in  1857  they  had  increased  to  seven  thousand  three 
hundred   and   ninety-two;  and    in    1867    to    twelve 
thousand  six  hundred  and  ninety-seven.     And  the 
increase  for  the  first  ten  months  of  this  year  is  three 
thousand.     This  is  far  in  excess  of  the  increase  of 
population,  and  proves  conclusively  that,  notwith- 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  321 

standing  the  efforts  heretofore  made  to  check  it,  the 
evil  of  intemperance  is  steadily  upon  the  increase.' 

"  There  is  no  going  behind  this,"  the  agent  went 
on,  while  I  sat  as  one  dumb  before  him. 

A  shuddering  cry  came  over  from  "purgatory." 
He  watched  my  face  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 

"  No  trade  but  yours  gives  a  harvest  like  that.  In 
a  single  year  over  a  hundred  and  sixty  poor  wretches 
have  gone  into  the  mania-a-potu  ward  of  this  prison 
and  suffered  the  torments  of  the  damned.  Thirty- 
three  died  there  a  death  of  inconceivable  horror. 

"  Have  you  ever,"  he  went  on,  after  observing  me 
closely  for  a  little  while,  "  made  yourself  familiar 
with  the  statistics  of  your  business  ?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  I  wonder  at  that,"  he  returned.  "  Men  usually 
post  themselves  in  such  matters.  Do  you  know  how 
much  is  spent  in  the  United  States  in  a  single  year 
for  intoxicating  liquor  ?  I  mean  in  the  taverns,  res 
taurants,  saloons  and  liquor-shops  ?" 

"  I  have  heard,  I  think,  but  do  not  now  remember," 
I  replied. 

"  Over  a  billion  and  a  half  of  dollars,  or  more  than 
one-third  the  amount  received  by  retailers  of  all  other 
kinds  of  merchandise.  Is  it  any  wonder,  sir,  that  our 
prisons  and  almshouses  are  full  ?  How  many  poor 
creatures,  do  you  think,  have  been  committed  for 
drunkenness  to  this  prison  alone  in  twenty  years  ? 
You  would  never  guess.  A  hundred  and  ninety 
thousand !" 

V 


322  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Impossible !"  I  exclaimed. 

"  Too  true,  sir — too  sadly  true,"  the  agent  replied. 
"  There  is  no  need  for  exaggeration.  The  facts  are 
appalling  enough  as  they  stand.  I  give  you  simply 
the  prison  record.  And  is  it  any  matter  of  wonder  ? 
You  have  not  been  for  years  in  this  business  without 
some  knowledge  of  its  practical  workings.  You  can 
call  to  mind  many,  alas,  how  many !  now  worthless 
sots,  paupers  or  criminals  who  were  once  sober,  in 
dustrious  men.  Think  of  the  fearful  work  that  eight 
thousand  bars  and  dram-shops,  open  seven  days  in 
the  week,  can  do  in  a  single  city !  Eight  thousand 
dram-shops,  and  only  four  hundred  churches  and 
three  hundred  and  eighty  schools !  How  fearful  the 
odds  against  virtue  and  religion !  How  many  do 
you  suppose  are  now  in  the  almshouse  ?" 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  I  replied. 

"  Nearly  four  thousand.  And  do  you  think 
sobriety  and  industry  brought  them  there  ?  No,  sir ! 
I  question  if  there  is  a  single  person  in  that  institu 
tion  who  has  not,  directly  or  indirectly,  been  reduced 
to  pauperism  through  the  influence  of  liquor-drink 
ing.  Out  of  thirty-one  thousand  arrests  made  by  the 
police  of  our  city  in  a  single  year,  fifteen  thousand 
were  sent  to  prison.  Of  these  latter,  one  thousand 
were  for  assault  and  battery,  five  thousand  for  disor 
derly  conduct,  four  thousand  for  drunkenness  and 
thirteen  hundred  for  vagrancy.  Thus  nearly  twelve 
thousand  put  of  the  fifteen  were  committed  to  prison 
for  misdemeanors  clearly  traceable  to  drink.  Of  the 


Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  323 

other  fifteen  thousand  arrests  made  by  the  police,  it 
is  fair  to  suppose  that  three-fourths  of  them  were  of 
persons  more  or  less  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 
Sober,  quiet  people  are  not  often  troubled  by  police 
men." 

I  sat  with  my  eyes  cast  down  upon  the  floor 
utterly  speechless  before  this  appalling  array  of  facts 
and  figures. 

"  And  this,  mind  you,"  went  on  the  prison  agent, 
warming  every  moment  under  his  theme — "  this  is  for 
a  single  city.  And  the  same  work  is  going  on  in 
almost  every  city,  town  and  neighborhood  in  the 
land,  and  everywhere  the  cry  goes  up — the  bitter 
cry  of  poor  women  and  children,  for  on  them  the 
crushing  weight  of  this  great  millstone  is  heaviest, 
grinding  out  hope,  happiness  and  often  life  itself. 
Let  us  take  a  wider  survey,  and  try  to  grasp  the  ag 
gregate  of  this  monstrous  evil.  Carefully-prepared 
statistics  tell  us  that  there  are  five  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand  persons  employed  in  producing 
and  selling  various  kinds  of  intoxicating  liquors,  and 
that  the  sales  of  these  reach  the  enormous  sum  of 
nearly  a  billion  and  a  half  of  dollars  annually.  No 
wonder  that  in  a  single  year  (1868)  criminal  statistics 
give  this  frightful  record  of  crimes :  Four  hundred 
and  eighty  suicides,  six  hundred  and  forty  murders 
and  eighty  thousand  cases  of  larceny  and  theft  com 
mitted  under  the  influence  of  liquor." 

I  made  a  feeble  effort  to  throw  in  something  about 
the  impossibility  of  getting  reliable  statistics,  and  the 


324  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

tendency  of  those  opposed  to  liquor  men  to  exag 
gerate. 

"  Exaggerate  !"  he  exclaimed.  "Why,  sir,  it  is  im 
possible  to  exaggerate !  Let  any  man  in  his  sober 
senses  sit  down  with  the  facts  before  him  and  ponder 
the  subject.  You  can  do  it  for  yourself,  and  I  trust 
you  will  do  it,  now  that  you  have  the  opportunity. 
I  will  supply  you  with  all  the  data  you  need,  and  you 
shall  work  out  the  question  for  yourself.  In  this 
city,  with  a  population  of  over  seven  hundred  thou 
sand,  we  have  had  in  operation  for  years  past  about 
eight  thousand  drinking-places.  Extend  this  ratio 
to  the  whole  United  States,  and  you  will  have  over 
two  hundred  thousand  places  where  rum  is  sold. 
Call  it  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,  and  what  a  fear 
ful  aggregate  you  have !  Estimate,  if  you  can,  the 
evil  effects  of  a  single  well-frequented  bar,  and  then 
try  to  imagine  what  sorrow  and  crime,  what  suffer 
ing  and  unutterable  woe,  must  spring  from  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  such  moral  pest-houses. 

"  You  have  never  thought  of  these  things  ?  Ah, 
sir,  it  is  time  you  were  beginning  to  think,  and 
that  very  soberly." 

"  You  are  not  indisposed  to  give  me  the  opportu 
nity,"  I  said,  betraying  both  in  voice  and  manner  the 
annoyance  I  felt  under  the  pressure  of  his  crowding 
figures. 

"I  am  glad  of  the  opportunity,"  he  replied,  "to 
enlighten  one  who,  if  I  read  his  face  aright,  is  not 
all  lost  to  considerations  of  humanity,  is  not  wholly 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  325 

indifferent  to  human  woe.  How  long  have  you  been 
in  this  wretched  business  ?" 

"About  three  years,"  I  replied. 

"  And  you  have  had  a  fair  run  of  custom  during 
that  time  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Can  you  remember  a  single  instance,  looking 
back  over  all  your  customers,  in  which  you  think  a 
man  was  benefited  by  what  you  gave  him  for  his 
money  ?" 

I  was  silent. 

"  I  am  not  now  seeking  to  annoy  you,  not  trying 
to  fret  and  chafe  you,  because  you  are  in  prison  and 
in  a  certain  sense  in  my  power,"  the  agent  said  in 
gentle  tones.  "  I  only  desire  to  get  conviction  into 
your  heart.  I  only  want  you  to  see  the  fearful  respon 
sibility  that  rests  upon  the  men  who  live  by  the  traffic 
in  which  you  are  engaged.  And  now  will  you  not, 
for  the  sake  of  getting  down  to  the  very  root  of  this 
thing,  tax  your  memory  and  answer  honestly  to 
yourself  the  question  I  have  asked  ?" 

I  paused  for  a  little  while  to  let  my  thoughts, 
which  were  disturbed  by  his  question,  run  a  little 
clear. 

"  I  can  hardly  say  yes,"  I  at  length  replied. 

"  Let  me  go  farther,  and  ask  if  you  cannot  recall 
many  cases  in  which  men  are  worse  off  for  what  you 
gave  them  ?" 

I  was  silent  again. 

"  I  will  not  press  the  question,"  the  agent  said, 
78 


326  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

rising.  "  I  leave  it  to  you  and  your  conscience. 
Answer  it  to  your  own  soul,  my  friend,  and  answer 
it  fairly.  Go  back  bravely  and  resolutely  over  the 
past  three  years  of  your  life,  and  be  honest  with 
yourself.  Call  up  the  unmarred  faces  of  men  who 
were  allured  to  your  bar  two  or  three  years  ago, 
and  call  them  up  again  as  when  you  looked  upon 
them  last.  Set  them  side  by  side  in  your  imagina 
tion,  and  put  the  question  soberly,  '  How  far  am  I 
responsible  for  the  dreadful  change  now  visible?' 
Think  of  the  homes  of  these  men,  of  their  sorrowing, 
suffering  wives,  and  of  their  neglected  children,  and 
ask  again  the  question,  '  How  far  am  I  responsi 
ble  ?' " 

He  moved  to  go.  I  arose  from  the  bed  on  which 
I  had  been  sitting,  and  said,  earnestly, 

"  It  is  all  very  bad,  sir,  but  men  are  not  apt  to  stop 
and  consider  who  is  hurt  by  their  business,  more 
especially  if  it  have  the  sanction  of  law.  It  is  hardly 
fair  to  put  all  the  responsibility  on  us.  The  com 
monwealth  that  sells  us  a  license  to  deal  in  liquors 
must  have  its  share." 

I  saw  his  eyes  flash  and  a  quiver  of  pain  and  in 
dignation  disturb  his  face. 

"  The  commonwealth  takes  blood-money !"  he  ex 
claimed,  almost  passionately — "  sells  to  unscrupu 
lous  men  the  right  to  make  paupers  and  criminals, 
to  consume  the  poor  man's  substance  and  beggar  his 
wife  and  children,  to  break  poor  human  hearts  !  It 
is  an  awful  thing." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  327 

And  he  walked  the  brief  length  of  my  cell  back 
ward  and  forward  in  strong  agitation. 

"  If  the  men  who  represent  this  commonwealth,'* 
he  went  on — "  the  men  who  are  chosen  to  make  its 
laws  and  secure  the  highest  good  of  their  fellow- 
citizens — could  see  a  hundredth  part  of  the  evils  of 
rum-selling  that  I  have  seen  in  the  last  twenty  years 
in  this  city  alone,  they  would  sweep  every  license 
law  from  the  statute-book  and  shut  up  every  bar  in 
the  State.  They  would  say  to  each  citizen  of  the 
commonwealth,  You  shall  be  free  to  get  gain  by 
serving  your  neighbor,  but  not  by  hurting  him.  We 
will  not  license  men  to  the  business  of  corruption,  we 
will  not  license  men  to  make  paupers,  thieves  and 
murderers,  we  will  not  license  men  to  the  business 
of  eating  out  the  poor  man's  substance  and  letting 
his  wife  and  children  starve  or  beg." 

I  did  not  venture  to  oppose  anything  to  this.  I 
could  not.  He  walked  toward  the  cell  door,  saying, 
in  a  changed  and  quieter  voice, 

"  But  I  must  go — have  already  stayed  too  long. 
There  are  three  or  four  poor  victims  of  your  traffic 
sent  down  to-day  that  I  must  see  after  and  get  back 
to  their  families." 

His  hand  was  drawing  open  the  inner  door.  I 
could  not  let  him  go  without  a  word  for  myself. 

"  I  cannot  stay  here  for  sixty  days,  Mr.  Mullen," 
I  said,  reaching  out  my  hands  toward  him  eagerly. 

He  shook  his  head  gravely:  "There  is  no  help 
for  you,  that  I  can  see." 


328  TJirce  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Cannot  influence  be  brought  to  shorten  the  sen 
tence?  It  is  hard  on  me.  I  am  not  the  only  of 
fender.  The  court  gave  L but  ten  days." 

"  The  court  gave  fair  warning  at  the  time  L 

was  sentenced,"  he  replied,  "  that  the  next  offender 
would  get  the  full  benefit  of  the  law,  and  the  court, 
let  me  tell  you,  is  in  earnest  about  this  matter.  I 
could  not  help  you  if  I  would." 

And  he  went  out,  leaving  me  again  in  solitude, 
and  with  a  bitter  morsel  under  my  tongue. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

TWO  days  afterward  I  was  sitting  a  prey  to 
gloomy  and  self-tormenting  thoughts,  bitterly 
repenting  that  I  had  ever  set  my  foot  in  the  path 
that  had  led  to  places  like  this,  when  my  cell  door 
was  opened  and  a  man  pushed  in.  He  staggered 
a  little  as  he  came  toward  me. 

"  Good  heavens,  Tom !"  I  exclaimed,  in  sudden 
agitation.  It  was  Lloyd. 

We  grasped  hands  and  stood  for  a  little  while 
looking  dumbly  at  each  other.  His  face  was  con 
gested,  his  eyes  watery  and  blood-shotten  and  the 
purple  scar  on  his  cheek  clear  and  strong.  He  had 
evidently  been  drinking  more  deeply  than  ever  since 
I  had  seen  him,  and  was  now  more  than  half  stupefied 
with  liquor.  The  muscles  of  his  marred  face  began 
working  like  those  of  a  sobbing  woman  as  soon  as 
he  recognized  me. 

"  And  so  it  has  gone  against  you  ?"  I  said,  first 
breaking  silence. 

"  Yes,  Hiram.  It's  gone  against  me.  They  swore 
it  all  through,  and  I  had  no  chance/'  he  answered, 
piteously.  All  his  brave  manhood  was  gone. 

"  How  long  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Ninety  days,"  he  replied. 

28  *  329 


330  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

I  then  began  to  ask  questions  about  our  affairs, 
but  could  get  little  satisfaction.  His  head  was  all  in 
confusion.  I  gathered  that  he  had  not  been  at  the 
saloon  for  two  days. 

"  Why  not?"  I  asked  as  I  drew  the  admission  from 
him.  It  had  come  out  incidentally. 

He  did  not  answer,  and  I  saw  something  in  his 
face  that  awakened  a  suspicion  of  foul  play. 

"  Why  haven't  you  been  at  the  saloon  ?"  I  said, 
pressing  the  question,  and  with  some  sternness  in 
my  voice. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  growl  about  it,"  he  replied,  in  a 
dogged  way.  "  It's  done,  and  can't  be  helped." 

"  What's  done  ?"  I  demanded. 

"  It's  done,  didn't  I  tell  you  ?"  he  mumbled,  turn 
ing  away  from  me. 

"  Tom,"  I  exclaimed,  grasping  his  arm,  "  I  don't 
want  any  nonsense.  What  has  been  done  ?  Speak 
out!" 

He  shook  my  hand  off  angrily  and  showed  his 
teeth  like  a  dog,  then  cursed  me. 

There  was  no  use  in  quarreling  with  him.  He 
was  too  much  under  the  influence  of  liquor  to  have 
any  control  of  his  temper,  bad  enough  at  any  time. 
So  I  held  down  my  feelings  as  best  I  could,  and 
sought  to  get  from  him  the  meaning  of  his  last 
strange  sentences. 

"  Say,  Tom  " — I  now  spoke  in  a  persuasive  man 
ner — "  what  has  been  done  ?  You  haven't  told  me 
yet.  You  only  thought  you  did." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  331 

"  It  was  the  best  thing  for  us,"  he  replied.  "  '  The 
Retreat '  was  played  out,  and  all  the  Harvey-street 
custom  gone." 

"  '  The  Retreat '  played  out !  What  do  you  mean, 
Tom  Lloyd  ?"  I  grew  excited  and  imperative  again 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  curse  and  swear  about  it, 
I'm  mum,"  was  answered,  in  a  thick,  maudlin  voice. 
"  Did  the  best  I  knew  how.  No  use  crying  over 
spilled  milk.  Couldn't  help  myself.  Bad  sort  of 
business,  any  way." 

"  You  don't  mean,"  said  I,  speaking  with  forced 
calmness,  "  that  you  have  sold  '  The  Retreat '  ?" 

"  Couldn't  help  myself.  Had  to  do  it.  Got  me  all 
tied  up." 

His  last  sentence  made  everything  clear.  I  had 
dreaded  this.  As  soon  as  I' was  out  of  the  way  his 
sporting  friends  had  come  down  upon  him  for  gam 
bling  debts,  and  he  had  settled  with  them,  while  half 
intoxicated,  by  passing  over  our  saloon,  with  its 
lease,  fixtures  and  license. 

I  felt  like  striking  him  down,  I  was  so  filled  with 
sudden  rage  against  him,  but  held  myself  under  con 
trol,  keeping  back  even  the  bitter  denunciations  that 
were  crowding  for  utterance. 

I  turned  my  back  upon  him  with  impotent  curses 
in  my  heart.  He  laid  himself  down,  and  in  a  little 
while  was  fast  asleep  and  breathing  heavily.  I  tried 
to  arouse  him  when  our  supper  of  bread  and  choco 
late  was  handed  in,  but  his  stupor  was  so  heavy  that 
the  effort  proved  fruitless.  Night  came  down,  but 


332  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

he  slept  on.  I  went  to  bed  about  nine  o'clock  and 
tried  to  sleep,  but  my  brain  was  too  busy  and  my 
feelings  too  sensitively  alive.  Rest  was  far  from 
me. 

It  was  near  midnight  before  Lloyd's  heavy  slum 
ber  was  broken.  Then  he  became  restless  and 
talked  in  his  sleep,  but  in  a  jerky,  incoherent  way, 
muttering  and  mumbling,  and  sometimes  crying  out 
in  a  clear,  sharp  voice.  I  began  to  feel  uneasy.  It 
flashed  across  my  mind  that  the  sudden  withdrawal 
of  liquor  might  result  in  delirium,  and  a  chill  crept 
over  me  at  the  thought. 

Toward  daylight  I  was  awakened  from  a  light 
slumber  into  which  I  had  fallen  by  feeling  his  hand 
on  me  and  hearing  his  voice. 

"  Hiram  !"  he  called. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  I  asked,  rousing  up. 

"  Is  there  any  water  here  ?  I'm  burning  up  with 
thirst." 

"You'll  find  a  spicket  over  by  the  door,"  I 
replied. 

He  went  shuffling  across  the  cell,  and  felt  about 
the  wall,  but  could  not  find  the  spicket. 

"  Low  down,  on  the  left  side,"  I  called. 

He  fumbled  a  while  longer,  and  then  I  heard  the 
cup  rattle  against  the  spicket.  But  he  could  not 
open  it. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Hiram,"  he  called,  "come 
and  find  me  the  water." 

I  got  up  and  drew  him  a  cup  of  water,  but  he 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  333 

spilled  half  of  it  in  trying  to  raise  the  cup  to  his 
lips. 

"  Hold  it  for  me,"  he  said,  his  voice  shaking. 

I  put  the  cup  to  his  mouth,  and  he  drank  eagerly. 
He  then  went  back  to  bed,  muttering  and  cursing. 

As  daylight  came  creeping  slowly  through  the 
narrow  window  into  our  cell,  and  I  could  make  out 
his  face,  I  saw  that  it  was  greatly  changed  from  what 
it  was  on  the  day  before.  It  was  now  haggard  and 
pale.  His  eyes  were  restless  and  all  his  motions 
nervous.  He  took  again  freely  of  water.  When  our 
breakfast  came  in,  he  drank  a  basin  of  the  tea  that 
was  served,  but  it  did  not  allay  his  nervousness. 

"  Oh  for  a  cup  of  strong  coffee !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  I'd  give  ten  dollars  for  a  cup  of  strong  coffee." 

As  the  morning  advanced  Lloyd's  nervousness  in 
creased.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  talk  about  our  affairs, 
but  he  would  not  be  drawn  out.  I  urged  him,  and 
he  grew  angry  and  violent.  I  did  not  like  the  ex 
pression  of  his  eyes. 

When  our  dinner  came,  I  urged  him  to  take  some 
of  the  soup,  but  he  turned  from  it  with  loathing. 
He  had  no  appetite  for  food. 

"  I'd  give  my  right  hand  for  a  glass  of  brandy," 
he  exclaimed,  striding  about  the  cell.  "  Brandy, 
brandy,  Hiram !  God  help  me  if  I  don't  get 
whisky  or  brandy !"  and  I  saw  him  shiver. 

I  was  beginning  to  feel  very  uneasy.  And  now 
there  came  a  yell  of  agony  from  "  purgatory " 
Another  poor  wretch  was  among  the  demons. 


334  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

Lloyd  started  up — he  had  thrown  himself  on  his 
bed  a  few  moments  before — and  looked  at  me  in  wild 
alarm. 

"  What  is  that,  Hiram  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  I  saw  him  tremble. 

Could  I  answer  him  truly?  I  dared  not  do  so, 
for  he  was  himself  near  that  world  of  horrors  into 
which  the  wretch  whose  cries  were  in  our  ears  had 
plunged,  and  a  breath  might  topple  him  over.  So  I 
pretended  not  to  know. 

Again  the  fearful  outcries  smote  our  ears. 

"They're  murdering  somebody,  Hiram,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  They  don't  murder  people 
here." 

"  Then  they  are  torturing  somebody.     Hark  !" 

His  face  grew  pale  as  a  wilder  scream  of  terror 
and  the  sound  as  of  men  in  some  deadly  struggle 
startled  the  air. 

"  What  is  it,  Hiram  ?  If  you  know,  for  Heaven's 
sake  tell  me !" 

I  hesitated  a  little,  and  then  said,  throwing  a  light 
expression  into  my  voice, 

"  It's  from  the  delirium  tremens  ward,  I  guess." 

He  looked  at  me  strangely,  then  drew  his  eyes 
away  from  mine  and  sat  quietly  for  a  little  while. 
The  yells  and  outcries  still  came  at  intervals  to  our 
ears. 

"  Oh,  it's  too  awful !  I'll  never  be  able  to  stand 
it !"  he  exclaimed  at  last,  starting  up  from  the  bed  on 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  335 

which  he  had  been  sitting  and  looking  wildly  and 
helplessly  around. 

I  tried  to  soothe  him — told  him  to  do  as  I  had 
done  at  first,  stop  his  ears.  He  shut  his  hands 
tightly  over  them,  and  stood  for  half  a  minute  in  the 
middle  of  the  cell. 

"  It's  no  use,  Hiram,"  he  said,  despairingly,  as  he 
withdrew  his  hands.  "  I  hear  it  all  the  time  just  the 
same.  I  cannot  stop  it  out." 

And  yet,  while  his  hands  were  upon  his  ears,  not 
a  sound  had  come  from  "purgatory." 

A  long,  long  time  the  maniac  cries  were  heard 
before  the  miserable  sufferer  became  unconscious, 
Lloyd  all  the  while  manifesting  the  keenest  sensi 
tiveness.  They  had  ceased  altogether  for  about 
half  an  hour,  and  I  thought  Lloyd,  who  was  lying 
down,  had  fallen  asleep,  when  I  heard  him  say  in  a 
quick,  rather  startled  voice, 

"  See  there,  Hiram  !" 

I  turned,  and  saw  him  gazing  with  wide-open  eyes 
and  mouth  drawn  apart  into  a  corner  of  the  cell. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  ?  I  don't  see  anything," 
I  returned,  feeling  a  chill  pass  over  me,  for  I  knew 
too  well  what  was  coming. 

II  There's  a  devilish-looking  thing  in  the  corner, 
Hiram !     There !     Don't  you  see  it  coming  out  ?" 
and  he  shrunk  as  close  to  the  wall  as  he  could  get, 
his  eyes  staring  into  the  corner  of  the  cell. 

"  Pshaw !"  I  said.  "  Don't  be  a  fool,  Tom.  Be  a 
man,  and  shake  this  thing  off." 


336  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

But  that  was  impossible. 

"  It's  coming,  Hiram,  it's  coming !"  he  cried  out, 
his  face  convulsed  with  terror. 

I  went  over  and  tried  to  soothe  him,  but  he  broke 
away  from  me  with  a  yell  of  fear  that  rang  out  into 
the  corridor.  A  few  minutes  afterward  the  little 
window  in  our  cell  was  opened,  and  a  voice  said, 

"  What's  the  trouble  in  there  ?" 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?"  I  asked.  "  There's  a  sick 
man  in  here." 

"  A  sick  man,  eh  ?  Very  well ;  I'll  send  the  doctor." 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  doctor  came.     Mean 
while,  Lloyd  had  been  driving  about  the  cell  in  a 
mad  way  to  escape  the  horrid  things  that  seemed  to 
be  after  him,  shaking  in  every  nerve  and  muscle  and 
crying  out  in  terror. 

Two  strong,  hard-looking  men,  with  faces  in  which 
you  saw  no  pity,  came  in  with  the  doctor. 

"Take  him  over  there,"  was  the  prompt  order, 
and  the  two  men  moved  toward  Lloyd,  who  leaped 
backward  from  them  in  a  vain  effort  to  escape.  But 
they  were  upon  him  in  a  moment,  and  had  his  arms 
pinioned.  Lloyd  was  a  strong  man,  and  now  that  he 
was  in  a  delirium  his  struggle  was  like  that  of  a 
giant.  He  struggled  and  kicked  and  roared  fright 
fully,  giving  the  two  men  quite  as  much  as  they 
could  do.  They  were  used  to  such  work,  however, 
and  soon  had  him  out  of  the  cell  and  over  into  the 
ward  opposite,  from  which  came  to  my  ears  his  cries 
and  yells  of  fear  and  agony ! 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

IT  seemed  the  very  climax  of  misfortune  and  mis 
ery.  Nearly  all  the  money  I  had  saved  in  three 
years  I  had  loaned  to  my  partner,  and  he  had  lost  it, 
and  not  only  lost  my  money,  but  sacrificed  my  busi 
ness.  I  would  go  out  from  this  place,  after  fifty 
days,  a  disgraced  and  humiliated  man,  poor,  almost, 
as  when  I  turned  from  a  useful  trade  to  live  by  a 
calling  that  only  the  license  fee  makes  less  than 
crime. 

I  moved  about  my  cell,  stung  almost  to  madness 
by  these  thoughts,  much  as  a  wild  beast  moves  about 
his  cage,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  listen  as 
the  cries  of  poor  Lloyd  came  across  from  the  ward 
opposite,  smiting  my  ears  with  indescribable  pain. 
What  they  were  doing  to  him  I  did  not  know.  But 
his  groans  and  yells  and  abject  supplications  were 
dreadful  to  hear,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  never 
would  cease. 

It  was  more  than  two  hours  after  Lloyd  had  been 
removed,  and  while  his  cries  still  came  to  me,  wailing 
and  wild  with  fear,  that  my  cell  door  opened,  and 
the  prison  agent  came  in.  I  had  not  seen  him  for 
several  days. 

"You  had  a  fellow-prisoner?"  he  said. 

29  W  337 


338  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  gloomily,  for  I  was  not  able  to 
shake  off  the  depression  I  felt. 

"The  commitments  are  so  large,"  he  remarked, 
"  that  we  have  often  to  put  three  or  four  into  a  single 
cell.  The  pauper  and  criminal  trade  is  very  active, 
The  State  gets  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  annu 
ally  from  the  city  for  licenses  to  sell  intoxicating 
liquors,  and  the  city  has  to  extort  from  her  tax-payers 
a  million  of  dollars  every  year  to  restrain  and  punish 
the  criminals  and  support  the  paupers  that  are  made 
by  this  licensed  traffic.  A  shrewd  and  sensible  busi 
ness  operation,  isn't  it  ?  And  now  there  is  a  call  for 
enlarging  this  place.  We  have  in  the  male  depart 
ment  some  three  hundred  cells  and  seven  hundred 
prisoners,  and  the  courts  and  aldermen  are  sending 
down  scores  daily.  We  want  two  hundred  more 
cells,  and  it  will  cost  our  tax-payers  an  amount  equal 
to  the  whole  sum  of  this  license  trade  for  two  years 
to  build  the  required  addition,  and  so  there  will  be 
nothing  during  these  two  years  to  set  off  against  the 
annual  one  million  pauper  and  criminal  tax.  It 
sounds  like  fiction,  doesn't  it?  A  noble  common 
wealth  to  get  gain  by  licensing  thousands  of  men  to 
scatter  crime,  pauperism  and  untold  misery  among 
its  people !  To  compel  a  great  city  like  this  to  have 
eight  thousand  nurseries  of  disease,  crime  and  death 
scattered  through  its  wards  and  precincts  that  not 
only  corrupt  and  debase  its  citizens,  but  draw  from 
their  industry  a  million  of  dollars  in  extra  tax  every 
year !  A  million,  did  I  say  ?  It  can  easily  be  shown 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  339 

that  our  city  pays  over  two  millions  a  year  for  the 
maintenance  of  courts,  prisons,  almshouse,  charitable 
institutions  and  extra  police,  all  consequent  on  the 
debasement  that  flows  from  intemperance  under  our 
present  license  system." 

It  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  stop.  His  sen* 
tences  hurt  and  stunned  me. 

"It  is  frightful  to  think  of,"  he  resumed.  "Any 
body  may  get  a  license  from  our  noble  State  to  make 
widows  and  orphans,  to  sow  crime,  poverty  and 
death  broadcast  among  the  people.  Character  is 
not  necessary.  Any  criminal  who  has  served  out  a 
term  in  the  penitentiary  or  county  prison  may  apply 
to  the  clerk  of  Quarter  Sessions  court  for  a  license 
and  receive  it,  or  for  half  a  dozen  licenses  if  he  will 
pay  the  fee  to  each  of  the  officials  whose  sanction  is 
required.  I  know  of  one  instance  of  a  man  who  died 
recently  in  this  city,  leaving  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  every  dollar  of  which  he  made  within  a  few 
years  by  selling  liquor  in  six  different  places,  for  each 
one  of  which  he  received  a  license.  His  dens  were  in 
the  lowest  part  of  our  city,  and  he  sold  to  the  most 
depraved  of  mankind,  and  to  the  poorest  of  the  poor, 
blacks  and  whites.  He  distilled  the  liquor  himself, 
and  supplied  each  of  these  known  places  with  a  com 
pound  of  his  own  make  which  he  called  '  whisky ' 
This  man  had  served  out  a  term  at  Cherry  Hill. 

"  So,  you  see,"  the  agent  went  on,  while  I  would 
have  pitched  him  out  of  the  cell  if  I  had  dared,  I  was 
so  chafed  and  worried  by  his  pressure  of  this  subject 


340  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

upon  me,  "our  noble  commonwealth  don't  require 
character  nor  standing  in  its  agents  of  death.  It 
only  asks  their  money.  If  they  can  pay  over  fifty 
or  a  hundred  dollars  into  the  State  treasury,  all  right. 
They  are  as  free  to  work  as  the  minister  or  the 
teacher. 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  he  said,  after  a  little 
pause,  "of  some  other  figures.  You  see  I  have 
studied  up  these  matters.  It  costs  the  people  of  this 
country  for  intoxicating  liquor  nearly  a  billion  and 
a  half  of  dollars  every  year.  Now,  what  do  you 
think  it  costs  for  churches  and  schools  ?  Thirty 
millions  to  sustain  the  gospel  and  forty  millions  to 
sustain  our  schools.  A  vast  difference,  that !  Tak 
ing  the  population  at  forty  millions,  and  we  have  a 
cost  of  one  dollar  per  head  for  schools,  seventy-five 
cents  a  head  for  the  gospel  and  thirty-seven  dollars 
a  head  for  intoxicants.  Think  of  that !  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  crime  and  misery  go  stalking  through 
the  land?" 

He  paused  again,  looking  at  me  keenly. 

"  You  may  have  other  company  in  your  cell  at 
any  moment,"  he  went  on,  changing  the  subject — 
"  a  rough  sent  down  for  biting  somebody's  nose  off, 
or  a  poor  drunken  rowdy,  or  a  sneak  thief." 

I  turned  on  him  with  an  imprecation  I  could  .not 
keep  down. 

"You  can't  bear  it,"  he  said,  in  a  softer  tone  of 
voice.  "  Still,  the  lesson  and  the  pain  may  do  you 
good.  They  will  set  you  to  thinking.  The  rough, 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  341 

the  rowdy  and  the  sneak  thief  are  chiefly  the  prod 
ucts  of  the  business  in  which  you  have  been  en 
gaged,  and  it  may  be  well  for  you  to  make  their 
closer  acquaintance — to  see  and  hear  and  touch  the 
humanity  you  have  helped  to  degrade  to  so  mean  a 
level." 

"I  am  in  your  power,  Mr.  Mullen,"  I  said.  "I 
cannot  help  myself.  But  is  it  fair?  Is  it  generous  ?" 

"Was  it  fair  or  generous  for  you — " 

A  shuddering  cry  came  over  from  "purgatory," 
and  checked  his  speech. 

"  The  bitter,  bitter  fruits,"  he  exclaimed,  his  voice 
falling.  "  No  other  business  in  the  world  curses  a 
man  like  that.  But  come." 

He  moved  to  the  cell  door.     I  stood  still. 

"  Come,"  he  repeated,  and  I  saw  that  I  must  go. 

I  went  out  with  him,  crossing  the  bridge  that  led 
over  to  the  cells  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  corridor. 
He  walked  along,  I  following,  until  we  came  to  the 
last  cell  in  the  south-west  corner.  He  opened  the 
door  and  went  in,  I  stepping  in  after  him.  The  cell 
was  unoccupied,  but  there  was  a  door  in  the  wall 
opening  into  the  adjoining  cell.  Through  this  door 
I  could  see  that  five  or  six  cells  had  thus  been  made 
to  communicate  with  each  other. 

"  Come,"  repeated  the  agent,  and  I  moved  on  after 
him,  passing  through  the  cells  until  I  came  in  sight 
of  the  last.  Two  men  were  in  the  door  of  this. 
Over  it  I  read  in  strong  black  letters  the  word  "  PUR 
GATORY,"  and  even  as  I  read,  the  voice  of  my  poor 

29* 


342  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

friend  Lloyd  came  shrieking  out  in  a  long  despairing 
cry  that  made  the  hair  lift  on  my  head  and  my  blood 
seem  to  curdle. 

The  agent  spoke  to  the  two  men — they  were  the 
same  hard,  unpitying  men  who  had  taken  Lloyd  out 
of  my  cell,  prisoners  selected  for  this  dreadful  work 
because  they  were  known  to  have  nerves  of  steel 
and  hearts  of  iron — and  they  moved  back  from  the 
door. 

"  I  want  you  to  look  in  there,"  said  the  agent.  I 
stood  in  the  door  of  this  last  cell.  Let  me  describe 
in  as  fitting  words  as  I  can  use  what  I  saw.  I  shiver 
as  I  recall  it.  Lloyd  was  lying  on  the  floor  motion 
less  with  his  face  upward.  I  have  no  words  in 
which  to  give  a  picture  of  that  face  as  I  see  it  now, 
and  shall  always  see  it  in  memory.  It  makes  a  chill 
creep  over  me  whenever  it  becomes  visible,  as  it  often 
does.  The  eyes  were  distended  with  fear,  the  coun 
tenance  pale  and  distorted,  with  all  the  muscles  work 
ing  as  if  from  intensest  physical  pain.  His  head 
kept  turning  from  side  to  side,  as  if  he  were  watch 
ing  the  movements  of  frightful  things  that  were 
about  rushing  down  upon  him  in  his  bound  and 
helpless  condition. 

I  soon  saw  that  he  was  fastened  to  the  floor,  and 
so  completely  that  he  could  move  only  his  head. 
His  hands  were  encased  in  great  leathern  gauntlets 
and  drawn  with  straps  tightly  across  his  breast,  his 
legs  were  stretched  out  to  their  full  length  and  fast 
ened  to  an  iron  chain  in  the  floor,  while  his  shoul- 


•iiiiitt, 


Page  3J3. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  343 

ders  were  secured  in  a  similar  way.  He  could  not 
move  a  muscle  of  his  body,  except  those  above  the 
shoulders.  And  there,  sick  with  the  direst  of  all 
diseases,  helpless  and  alone  with  hard,  unpitying 
attendants,  he  lay  given  up  for  torment  to  a  hellish 
crew  of  demons. 

I  stood  in  the  door  of  the  cell  and  looked  down 
upon  his  awful  face.  He  saw  and  knew  me,  lifted 
his  head  a  few  inches,  called  my  name,  cried  out  in 
a  voice  of  strong  and  pleading  agony, 

"  Oh,  Hiram  !  For  God's  sake,  Hiram  !  Take  me 
out  of  this  place!  Oh,  Hiram!  For  God's  sake, 
Hiram !" 

A  hand  grasped  my  arm,  and  I  was  drawn  firmly 
back  from  the  cell  door  and  hurried  away.  As  I  re 
treated  I  heard  the  cry  "  Oh,  Hiram !  For  God's 
sake,  Hiram  !"  wailing  after  me  in  tones  of  agony  and 
despair.  And  in  my  cell  I  heard  them,  I  cannot  tell 
for  how  long  after,  as  I  sat  shivering  and  appalled  by 
what  I  had  witnessed. 

All  became  still  at  last — still,  it  seemed,  as  death. 
The  agent  did  not  come  to  my  cell  again.  He  had 
other  work  on  hand.  Nor  did  he  come  again  for 
several  days.  I  could  get  no  word  about  Lloyd. 
Two  other  prisoners  were  put  into  my  cell,  which 
caused  me  to  feel  great  uneasiness.  Why  had  not 
Lloyd  come  back  ? 

From  one  of  these  prisoners,  a  great,  coarse,  brut 
ish-looking  fellow  who  came  in  on  the  third  day 
after  Lloyd  was  taken  out,  I  got  a  newspaper,  and 


344  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

turned  instantly  to  the  column  of  deaths,  running 
my  eyes  along  it. 

"LLOYD."  I  caught  my  breath  at  the  word, 
and  then  read:  "On  the  loth  inst,  suddenly, 
Thomas  Lloyd.  Funeral  from  his  late  residence, 
No.  —  Poplar  street,  on  the  I3th  inst,  at  ten  o'clock." 

I  sat  stunned  and  oppressed  for  a  long  time.  It 
seemed  as  if  God  had  taken  up  the  cause  against  us, 
and  was  sending  swift  and  awful  retribution.  I  was 
afraid  and  humbled ;  I  felt  that  a  power  greater  than 
man's  was  at  work,  and  that  I  was  not  able  to  stand 
against  it. 

From  that  time  I  schooled  myself  to  submission. 
I  had  no  hope  of  getting  out  until  the  expiration  of 
my  term.  My  fellow-prisoners — I  had  two  others  in 
the  cell  all  the  while  I  remained — were  far  from  be 
ing  agreeable  companions.  One  was  coarse  and 
brutish,  as  I  have  said — a  man  of  depraved  instinct 
and  vicious  life;  the  other,  a  poor  weak  creature 
made  criminal  through  bad  associations.  I  got  along 
with  them  as  best  I  could,  but  against  the  intimate 
association  I  was  compelled  to  have  with  such  men, 
nature  was  in  perpetual  revolt. 

Poor  Lloyd !  I  could  never  get  him  out  of  my 
thoughts — never  banish  from  sight  his  awful  face 
as  I  saw  it  last — never  get  out  of  my  ears  his 
imploring  cry,  '  Oh,  Hiram !  For  God's  sake, 
Hiram !" 

How  had  he  died  ?  Alone  with  unpitying  keepers, 
in  darkness,  his  soul  went  out  from  the  pinioned 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  345 

body,  and  there  was  none  who  cared  to  tell  the  tale 
of  mortal  agony. 

Over  thirty  such  awful  deaths  in  a  single  year,  and 
in  this  one  prison  1 

It  is  too  dreadful  to  contemplate.  I  can  dwell 
upon  it  no  longer.  What  would  I  not  give  if  the 
scene  I  have  just  pictured  for  the  reader  were  for 
ever  erased  from  my  memory  ? 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

I  HAVE  little  more  to  tell.  The  strength  of  a 
good  purpose  which  impelled  me  to  write  what 
I  have  written  has  kept  me  thus  far  to  my  task,  and 
now  that  nearly  all  I  need  to  say  for  warning  and 
counsel  has  been  said,  I  have  lost  the  firm  grip  with 
which  I  held  my  pen.  My  fingers  are  nerveless.  I 
would  stop  here. 

But  a  few  things  remain  to  be  told,  and  I  will  tell 
them  in  the  quiet  pages  that  follow. 

I  had  to  serve  out  the  full  term  of  my  imprison 
ment.  The  court  would  not  listen  to  any  application 
on  my  behalf.  I  had  persistently  broken  a  good 
law  and  must  suffer  the  penalty,  and  so  I  suffered  it 
to  the  end.  It  was  a  long  and  bitter  humiliation. 

I  came  out  at  last,  broken  in  spirit  and  with  a  de 
pressing  sense  of  weakness  and  shame.  The  self- 
poise  and  self-confidence  I  had  felt  while  in  the  full 
tide  of  success — when  I  saw  gains  steadily  coming  in, 
when  I  pushed  away  all  thoughts  of  responsibility 
and  said  in  my  heart,  "  Every  man  for  himself,  and 
the  devil  take  the  hindmost " — were  all  gone  now. 
I  shuddered  with  a  feeling  of  repulsion  when  the 
thought  of  going  back  to  liquor-selling  crossed  my 
mind.  I  could  get  a  license  for  fifty  dollars  and  do 

346 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  347 

as  one  of  my  fellow-prisoners,  a  hardened  criminal, 
said  he  meant  to  do  as  soon  as  he  got  out,  which 
happened  before  my  release — set  up  a  drinking-shop 
and  gather  in  money  from  the  vicious,  the  besotted 
and  the  weak.  I  could,  with  the  law  all  on  my  side, 
make  ample  provision  for  myself.  But  I  did  not  de 
bate  this  question  a  moment.  I  was  out  of  the  busi 
ness,  and  I  said  in  my  heart,  I  will  starve  sooner 
than  go  into  it  again. 

My  first  concern  was  to  ascertain  what  I  had  left. 
The  two  thousand  five  hundred  dollars  I  had  loaned 
my  partner,  and  to  secure  which  he  had  promised  to 
execute  a  mortgage,  but  never  did,  were  all  gone. 
The  fixtures,  lease  and  good-will  of  our  drinking- 
saloon  had  been  sold  while  I  was  shut  up  in  the 
county  jail,  and  the  amount  received  therefor  taken 
to  settle  Lloyd's  gambling  debts.  I  had,  besides,  only 
a  few  shares  of  gold-mining  stock,  which  I  had  been 
foolish  enough  to  buy  from  a  man  who  sold  it  at  a 
great  sacrifice  because  he  was  hard  up.  They  were 
going  to  make  me  rich  in  a  few  years.  On  inquiry, 
I  found  them  next  to  worthless.  The  mine  had  been 
flooded  and  work  abandoned. 

And  so  I  was  out  in  the  world  with  nothing  to 
show  for  my  three  years'  work  at  saloon-keeping 
but  a  gold  watch  and  a  diamond  breastpin.  I  sold 
the  latter  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  in  order  to 
get  something  to  live  on  until  I  could  look  about  me 
and  determine  what  to  do. 

I  did  not  call  on  Mrs.  Lloyd :  I  had  no  heart  to 


348  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

do  that — I  felt  that  I  could  not  look  her  in  the  face — 
but  I  made  diligent  inquiry  in  regard  to  her.  She 
had,  immediately  after  her  husband's  death,  given  up 
the  house  in  Poplar  street,  for  which  seven  hundred 
dollars  rent  was  paid,  and  sold  more  than  half  her 
furniture.  She  was  now  living  in  part  of  a  small 
house  with  Tom  and  her  two  little  boys.  Tom  was 
at  work  in  the  Harvey-street  bindery,  and  earning 
five  dollars  a  week,  which  was  all  their  income. 

I  was  glad  to  hear  good  accounts  of  Tom.  He 
worked  faithfully,  and  took  home  to  his  mother 
every  dollar  of  his  earnings.  Mr.  Ashley,  the  fore 
man,  was  very  kind  to  him,  and  often  spoke  an  en 
couraging  word. 

Poor  John  Ashley !  The  blow  he  received  on  the 
back  of  his  head,  as  he  fell  into  the  vestibule  at  his 
mother's  feet  on  the  night  I  took  him  home  through 
the  snow-storm,  gave  his  nervous  system  a  shock 
from  which  he  never  fully  recovered.  The  concussion 
hurt  his  brain  in  some  way.  Fever  and  temporary 
delirium  followed,  and  there  was  a  time  when  his 
family  had  little  hope  of  his  recovery,  but  he  came 
up  slowly,  and  it  was  many  weeks  before  he  got  out 
again.  He  now  had  some  light  employment  in  the 
bindery,  but  was  not  clear-headed  or  efficient. 

About  a  week  after  I  came  out  of  prison,  as  I  was 
walking  along  the  street,  I  came  face  to  face  with 
Ned  Allen.  He  was  about  passing  me,  but  I  stopped 
and  held  out  my  hand.  He  merely  touched  it,  and 
then  let  it  drop  as  though  it  hurt  him.  His  face 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  349 

was  ruddy  with  health  and  his  eyes  clear.  I  saw  at 
a  glance  that  it  was  well  with  him. 

"  All  right,  I  hope  ?"  said  I. 

"  All  right,"  he  responded,  and  was  about  passing 
on.  He  seemed  afraid  of  me. 

"  One  moment,  Ned." 

He  looked  at  me  sharply,  and  I  saw  a  shade  of 
dislike  and  suspicion  in  his  face. 

"  I'm  glad  to  know  it,  Ned."  I  spoke  with  feeling 
and  sincerity.  "  Keep  away  from  saloons  and  taverns, 
and  you  are  safe." 

"  Thank  you  for  the  advice,"  he  answered,  bluntly. 
"  I  only  wish  you  had  given  it  sooner." 

"  It  would  have  been  better,"  I  returned,  humbly. 
I  felt  abashed  in  the  boy's  presence,  for  his  words 
threw  instantly  on  the  canvas  of  memory  that  sad 
and  tearful  scene  I  had  witnessed,  when  his  poor 
heart-broken  father,  with  white  face  lifted  upward, 
prayed  that  his  unhappy  boy,  wellnigh  lost  in  the 
mazes  of  sin,  might  be  saved. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said,  coldly,  and  hurried  on, 
as  if  anxious  to  get  away.  Why,  it  slowly  dawned 
on  me.  I  was  known  as  a  liquor-seller,  and  he  felt 
that  to  be  seen  talking  with  me  in  the  street  might 
hurt  his  good  name,  and  he  was  right.  A  true  man 
had  given  him  a  chance  for  his  father's  sake :  he 
was  doing  well ;  but  for  him  it  was  safest  to  shun  even 
the  appearance  of  evil.  One  is  judged  by  the  com 
pany  in  which  he  is  seen. 

I  walked  on,  with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and 

30 


350  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

pain.  I  had  long  carried  this  boy  in  my  thoughts. 
I  had  felt  trouble  on  his  account.  It  was  too  clear 
a  case  against  us.  We  had  lured  his  feet  out  of  a 
safe  way  and  set  them  in  the  road  to  destruction, 
and  he  had  gone  along  that  road  with  hurrying  steps. 
I  was  never  more  thankful  for  anything  in  my  life 
than  for  this  clear  evidence  that  he  was  in  the  right 
way  again. 

The  "  Harvey-street  League  "  was  still  active  and 
on  the  alert.  Old  Jacobs,  the  president,  was  a  host 
in  himself.  "  The  Retreat "  I  found,  as  Lloyd  had 
said,  "  pretty  well  played  out."  No  custom  came  from 
the  bindery  and  printing-office,  and  without  this  the 
new  owner  couldn't  make  his  rent.  It  was  too  far 
out  of  the  way  for  general  traffic.  Sunday  saw  its 
door  closed  and  shutters  up.  After  the  example  that 
had  been  made  of  me,  the  new  proprietor  felt  scary. 
Sixty  days  in  Moyamensing  wasn't  pleasant  to  think 
about. 

I  drifted  around  the  city  for  many  weeks,  unde 
termined  what  to  do  with  myself.  The  life  I  had  led 
for  three  years  unfitted  me  for  the  old  work,  and  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  go  back  to  my  trade. 
But  what  was  I  to  do  ?  To  be  idle  is  to  be  in  dan 
ger.  I  was  not  morally  strong.  It  was  natural  for 
me  to  gravitate  toward  the  class  of  men  with  whom 
I  had  been  in  association  for  the  past  three  years — 
fast  men,  saloon-keepers,  bar-room  loungers,  idle 
politicians.  I  had  learned  in  three  years  to  drink 
considerably.  I  was  master  of  my  appetite,  and  yet, 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  351 

somehow,  after  the  long  repression  consequent  on  my 
residence  in  prison,  this  appetite  was  singularly  keen 
and  restless  under  denial.  I  indulged  in  what  I  con 
sidered  moderation — three  or  four  glasses  a  day — 
but  it  was  never  entirely  satisfied,  wanted  something 
more,  and  I  often  gave  it  more. 

As  time  wore  on  and  the  money  received  for  the 
sale  of  my  diamond  pin  was  nearly  gone,  I  began  to 
feel  anxious.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  In  this  crisis  of 
affairs  a  certain  ward  politician  whom  I  met  one 
evening  in  a  saloon  asked  me  what  I  was  doing. 

I  answered,  "  Nothing." 

"Anything  in  view?"  he  inquired,  and  I  said, 
"  No." 

He  called  for  a  couple  of  glasses  of  ale,  and  we 
drank  together  at  the  table  where  we  had  been 
sitting.  . 

"There's  a  scheme  on  hand,"  he  said,  confi 
dentially,  "and  I  think  you  are  the  man  we  are 
looking  for." 

"  What  sort  of  a  scheme  ?"  I  inquired,  with  a  good 
deal  of  interest.  "  And  secondly,  will  it  pay  ?" 

"  There's  no  doubt  as  to  its  paying,"  he  replied — • 
"  that  is,  if  it  is  managed  right.  But  mind,  if  I  let 
you  in,  you  must  be  as  close  as  the  grave." 

I  was  in  a  desperate  mood,  ready  for  almost  any 
thing  but  setting  up  a  tavern.  I  was  cured  of  that. 

"  You  can  trust  me,"  I  answered.  "  I  never  be 
trayed  a  friend  in  my  life,  and  don't  mean  to  begin 
now." 


352  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  Just  so.     I  thought  I  knew  you." 

And  then  he  unfolded  a  scheme,  in  which  he  and 
two  or  three  other  men  of  his  class  and  profession 
were  engaged,  for  an  out-and-out  swindle  of  the  pub 
lic  through  a  bogus  enterprise  that  was  to  have  the 
sanction  of  a  few  prominent  men  deceived  into  giving 
an  endorsement.  The  projectors  were  all  too  well 
known  to  secure  confidence,  and  were  in  search  of  a 
new  and  unknown  man  with  good  address  who 
would  stand  in  the  front  and  manage  affairs  in  the 
public  eyes,  but  as  they  directed. 

I  listened  patiently  to  the  whole  scheme  and  its 
well-digested  programme.  If  it  could  be  carried  out 
successfully,  it  would  pay,  and  that  handsomely.  My 
share  of  the  profit  would  be  several  thousand  dollars. 
It  was  a  tempting  offer  to  a  man  hanging  loose  on 
society  as  I  was,  and  waiting  for  anything  that  might 
turn  up.  But  I  did  not  fail  to  see  that  if  I  went  into 
it  I  would  be  a  cheat  and  a  swindler.  The  evil 
counselors  of  my  soul  who  came  in  upon  me  when 
I  debated  the  question  of  giving  up  a  useful  trade  to 
become  a  saloon-keeper,  and  told  me  that  no  man 
cared  for  me — that  if  I  did  not  look  to  the  main 
chance  I  would  be  flung  aside  as  of  no  account — now 
came  trooping  about  me  again  and  urging  me  to 
close  with  the  tempting  offer.  If  you  don't  take  the 
chance,  they  said,  somebody  else  will.  Your  holding 
off  won't  stop  the  scheme.  Go  in,  and  get  on  to 
your  feet.  It's  a  duty  you  owe  yourself.  I  tried  to 
fight  them  off,  but  they  stifled  reason  and  conscience. 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  353 

Just  at  this  critical  moment  I  saw,  with  surprise, 
the  face  of  old  Jacobs  the  pressman  at  the  door  of 
the  saloon.  He  was  standing  a  little  inside  and 
looking  about  the  room.  At  first  I  thought  he  had 
come  in  for  a  drink,  but  I  saw  by  his  countenance, 
so  calm  and  serious,  that  another  errand  had  brought 
him  here.  I  had  not  seen  him  since  the  night  he 
was  taken  out  of  "The  Retreat"  by  brother  Her 
itage.  He  did  not  look  like  the  same  man.  The 
change  in  his  appearance  was  marvelous  to  behold. 

As  his  eyes  ranged  about  the  room  they  rested 
on  me.  I  had  turned  my  head  partly  aside,  hoping 
I  would  not  be  recognized.  But  he  saw  me,  and 
coming  over  to  where  I  was,  said, 

"You  know  old  .Wilson,  who  worked  in  the 
bindery?" 

I  answered  that  I  did. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  here  to-night  ?" 

I  said  no. 

"  Have  you  been  here  long  ?"  he  then  asked. 
»  "  Half  an  hour,"  I  replied. 

He  stood  for  some  moments,  and  then  said, 

"  Hiram,  I'd  like  to  have  a  few  words  with  you." 

Glad  of  the  opportunity  to  escape  from  the  tempter, 
who  had  me  already  half  bound,  I  started  up,  saying, 

"  I  am  at  your  service." 

I  saw  a  heavy  frown  darken  the  face  of  the  man 
with  whom  I  had  been  talking. 

"You  are  not  going?"  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of 
repressed  anger  and  surprise. 

30*  X 


354  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"Yes,"  I  replied.  "Good-evening;"  and  I  went 
out  with  Jacobs,  feeling  a  strange  sense  of  relief  and 
safety,  like  one  escaped  from  imminent  peril.  We 
walked  for  a  hundred  yards  or  so  in  silence,  I  wait 
ing  anxiously  to  hear  what  old  Jacobs  had  to  talk 
to  me  about. 

"  Hiram,"  he  said,  at  length,  in  a  very  serious  but 
kind  and  almost  confidential  way,  "I  want  you  to 
help  me." 

"To  help  you?"  I  returned,  surprised  at  his 
speech. 

"  Yes ;  you  can  do  it  if  you  will." 

"  Then  I  will !"  was  my  strongly-uttered  response 

"To  help  me  do  a  good  office  for  a  weak  fellow 
creature  who  has  fallen  among — " 

He  checked  himself,  not  uttering  the  word  that 
was  on  his  tongue. 

"  I  have  done,  I  fear,  much  harm  in  my  time,  Ja 
cobs,"  I  replied,  "and  if  you  will  now  show  me 
how  I  can  do  any  good,  I  shall  be  glad  of  the  oppor 
tunity." 

"  Why,  Hiram !"  the  old  man  exclaimed,  stopping 
and  turning  round  upon  me.  "  Let  me  take  your 
hand!"  and  he  gave  me  a  grip  that  almost  made 
the  bones  snap.  "  The  greater  the  sinner,  the  greater 
the  saint,  I've  heard  said.  You've  been  an  awful 
sinner,  Hiram,  for  you  sinned  against  light  and 
knowledge.  But  if  you  have  repented,  just  come 
over  to  our  side,  and  we'll  put  you  high  up  in  the 
calendar." 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  355 

I  felt  somehow  stronger  and  safer  for  this  speech 
of  the  old  man. 

"  I  don't  expect  to  get  very  high  up,"  I  made  an 
swer.  "  Indeed,  I'd  rather  keep  out  of  sight.  But 
what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

"I'm  after  poor  old  Wilson,"  he  said,  "lie's 
broken  his  pledge  and  gone  off  on  a  spree.  I've 
been  looking  for  him  in  one  saloon  after  another  for 
an  hour  past,  but  can't  find  him.  Joe's  out  after  him 
too." 

"Joe  Wilson?     His  son?" 

"Yes.  Joe's  a  member  of  the  Harvey-street 
League,  and  as  fine  and  steady  a  fellow  as  you'd  wish 
to  see.  Hasn't  tasted  liquor  for  over  two  months." 

"  Glad  from  my  heart  to  hear  it,"  I  replied,  in  all 
sincerity. 

"  And  I'm  glad  from  my  heart  to  hear  you  say  so," 
returned  the  old  man.  "  But  we  must  find  Wilson. 
He's  in  some  of  these  taverns,  but  there  are  so  many 
of  them  that  one  might  almost  as  well  look  for  a 
needle  in  a  haystack.  Just  two  hundred  within  four 
or  five  squares !" 

I  went  into  the  old  man's  service,  promising  to 
visit  every  tavern  in  a  specified  area,  and  to  bring  out 
Wilson  if  I  came  across  him.  I  was  to  take  him,  if 
found,  to  the  hall  or  meeting-room  of  the  Harvey- 
street  League,  the  direction  of  which  Jacobs  gave  me. 

As  I  turned  from  the  old  pressman  to  commence 
my  search,  I  was  conscious  of  a  new  state  of  feeling 
and  a  sense  of  rest.  Since  I  had  come  out  of  prison 


356  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

my  soul  had  been  like  a  ship  tossed  on  troubled 
waters,  and  therefore  this  calm  and  restful  state  that 
fell  so  suddenly  upon  my  spirit  was  something  I 
could  not  but  observe.  With  it  came  a  feeling  of 
concern  for  Wilson,  who,  but  for  his  one  great  fail 
ing,  was  a  man  well  esteemed  by  every  one. 

Two  hundred  drinking-saloons  within  an  area  of 
four  or  five  blocks !  Could  that  be  possible  ?  I 
thought  Jacobs  must  be  in  error,  but  ere  I  had  been 
long  in  search  of  Wilson  I  began  to  realize  how 
fully  up  to  the  truth  had  been  his  assertion.  Into 
one  after  another  I  went,  hurriedly  looking  through 
each  for  the  man  I  was  seeking,  and  as  I  went  I  saw 
with  new  eyes  and  from  a  new  standpoint.  So 
many  young  men,  clerks  and  mechanics,  the  promise 
of  our  mercantile  and  industrial  life  !  And  here  they 
were  side  by  side,  and  too  often  in  free  intercourse 
with  the  vicious  and  debased.  I  saw  a  fair-faced 
young  man,  the  son  of  a  well-known  merchant, 
drinking  with  a  notorious  corner-lounger  who  had 
twice  found  it  convenient  to  be  absent  from  the  city 
while  certain  police  matters  were  being  investigated. 
I  saw  another  young  man,  clerk  in  a  large  Market- 
street  house,  laughing  and  talking  familiarly  with  a 
miserable  fellow  who  was  bad  and  base  enough  for 
almost  anything,  and  I  saw  them  go  out  together, 
evidently  with  a  common  purpose.  I  saw  a  weak 
boy  of  eighteen,  the  only  son  of  a  wealthy  and  good 
citizen,  treated  by  a  gambler's  stool  pigeon — I  knew 
him  well — and  then  drawn  away  from  the  saloon.  I 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  357 

had  little  question  as  to  where  they  would  be  in  less 
than  half  an  hour. 

I  saw  what  I  had  seen  over  and  over  hundreds  of 
times  before,  but  how  different  the  impression  made 
upon  me  now !  Then  I  was  interested  in  the  gain, 
and  when  I  looked  at  the  thirsty  crew,  young  and 
old,  rich  and  poor,  steady  and  debased,  that  thronged 
our  bar-room,  it  was  with  the  feeling  of  a  sportsman 
when  he  sees  his  game.  My  business  was  to  bring 
them  down  and  bag  their  money. 

But  I  was  seeing  with  other  eyes  now.     I   had 
not  come  for  game,  but  for  rescue,  to  save,  not  to 
destroy,  and  I  was  moved  with  concern  by  what  I 
saw.     As  some  idea  of  the  extent  of  the  traffic  in 
liquor  grew  upon  me,  estimating,  as  I  could  not  help 
doing,  the  whole   city  by  the   four   or   five   blocks 
through  which  I  was  ranging,  I  felt  almost  appalled 
at  its  magnitude.     Few  of  the  saloons  into  which  I 
went  had  less  than  three  or  four  persons  inside,  often 
a  dozen,  and  they  were  going  and  coming  all  the 
while.      Take    eight   thousand   of  these,   and   give 
twenty  visitors  to  each  in  a  single  night — many  had 
hundreds — and  the  number  is  a  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand.     But  one  person  will  often  go  to  two  or 
three  saloons  in  an  evening,  and  this  would  reduce 
the  actual  number  of  individuals  to  sixty  or  eighty 
thousand.     But  what  an  aggregate !     One  tenth  of 
the  whole  number  of  our  people  to  be  found  every 
night  in  taverns,  saloons,  restaurants    and  whisky- 
shops  ! 


358  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

In  spite  of  myself  I  could  not  help  running  these 
figures  through  my  mind.  And  as  I  did  so  I  re 
called  the  words  of  the  prison  agent,  and  felt  amazed 
at  the  marvelous  indifference  of  the  people.  All 
this  was  under  sanction  of  law.  The  commonwealth 
had  sold  for  money,  and  to  any  and  all  who  applied, 
the  right  to  set  up  places  for  the  sale  of  liquor  in  our 
city,  and  with  the  full  knowledge  that  such  places 
work  the  saddest  of  evils,  that  they  were  nurseries 
of  pauperism  and  crime,  moral  pest-houses,  stum 
bling-blocks  for  the  weak  and  unwary,  and  often  hot 
beds  of  infamies  too  deep  to  mention.  And  against 
all  this  the  citizens  had  no  remedy.  Two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  received  by  the  State  treasurer  for 
the  privilege  of  doing  all  this  evil,  and  in  its  hope 
less  task  of  repairing  the  evil,  the  city  spending  over 
a  million  each  year,  drawn  from  the  industry  of  its 
citizens ! 

How  long,  I  said  to  myself,  will  the  patience  or 
indifference  of  the  people  endure  all  this  ? 

But  I  had  not  meant  to  give  so  long  a  digression. 
It  was  one  thing  to  hear  all  this  from  the  prison 
agent  when  I  was  locked  up  in  a  cell,  chafing  at  re 
straint  and  rebellious  toward  the  law.  It  was  an 
other  thing  to  think  it  over  for  myself  under  new 
circumstances,  and  to  look  at  the  evil  from  a  new 
standpoint. 

I  went  from  tavern  to  tavern  searching  for  Wilson. 
I  had  gone  in  and  out  of  some  thirty  or  forty,  and 
was  beginning  to  despair  of  finding  him.  At  length 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  359 

I  stood  at  the  entrance  of  a  two-story  mean-looking 
dram-shop  with  a  broken  lamp  in  front,  hesitating 
whether  to  go  in  or  not,  when  some  one  pushed 
open  the  door.  I  got  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the 
inmates,  and  thought  one  of  them  looked  like  the 
man  for  whom  I  was  in  search,  so  I  went  in. 

It  was  a  poorly  fitted-up  place,  with  a  few  kegs, 
bottles  and  glasses,  and  half  a  dozen  vile-looking 
men  standing  at  the  bar  or  moving  about  the  room. 
I  saw  Wilson  as  soon  as  I  entered.  He  was  asleep 
in  a  chair,  and  one  of  the  men  present  was  standing 
over  him  with  something  in  his  hand  that  he  put 
quickly  out  of  sight  as  he  saw  me. 

"  Hallo,  comrade !"  exclaimed  some  one,  in  a 
familiar  voice. 

I  looked  to  the  bar,  from  which  the  words  came, 
and  saw  behind  it  the  well-remembered  face  of  one 
of  my  county-prison  associates — the  hardened  fellow 
who  had  declared  his  intention  to  buy  a  license  as 
soon  as  he  got  out  and  go  into  the  liquor  trade. 
And  here  he  was.  "  Comrade !"  How  like  the  stroke 
of  a  lash,  cutting  and  smarting,  fell  the  word  on  my 
ears !  I  did  not  think  it  safe  to  ignore  him,  for  he 
was  a  wicked  brute,  and  there  were  fellows  just  like 
him  present  —  some  of  them  old  prison-birds,  I 
doubted  not.  So  I  went  up  to  the  bar  and  gave  him 
a  not  very  cordial  response.  He  reached  out  his 
hand,  but  I  managed  not  to  take  it.  He  set  down  a 
decanter  of  whisky,  but  I  declined,  saying  I  had  al 
ready  taken  enough.  He  scowled  a  little. 


360  Three   Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

As  soon  as  I  could  I  turned  from  him  and  went 
to  the  sleeping  old  man,  and  putting  my  hand  on 
him,  called  him  by  name. 

"  You  know  the  old  soaker?"  said  my  prison  friend, 
coming  from  behind  the  bar  and  looking  at  us  with 
a  half-ill-natured  curiosity. 

I  did  not  reply,  but  called  in  a  louder  voice,  shak 
ing  Wilson  as  I  did  so.  It  took  me  some  time  to  get 
him  fairly  awake.  At  last  he  knew  me,  and  ex 
claimed, 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul,  Hiram,  is  this  you  ?"  He 
got  up  and  stood  looking  at  me  in  a  pleased  way. 

"  And  so  you're  out  again !  Well,  well !  Glad 
to  see  you,  Hiram !"  and  he  thrust  forth  his  hand. 

I  took  it,  giving  him  a  strong  pull  toward  the  door 
as  I  did  so,  and  saying, 

"  Come  with  me,  Wilson.  I  want  you  for  some 
thing." 

But  he  held  back. 

"  Come,"  I  repeated. 

"  Not  till  we  have  a  drink,"  he  replied.  "  It's  a 
good  while  since  you  and  I  drank  together,  Hiram. 
What'll  you  take?" 

"Nothing  to-night,  thank  you,  Wilson.  Had 
enough.  Come." 

I  saw  my  prison  friend  glance  toward  a  couple  of 
the  inmates  of  his  den,  and  they  moved  quietly  be 
tween  us  and  the  door. 

"  Oh,  I'll  stand  the  treat,"  responded  Wilson,  and 
he  turned  toward  the  bar.  "  What'll  you  have  ?" 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  361 

I  was  at  a  loss  whether  it  were  best  to  humor  him 
or  not.  My  prison  friend  went  behind  the  bar  and 
looked  toward  the  decanters. 

"  We  don't  want  anything  more  to-night,  neither 
of  us,"  I  said. 

"  We  don't  ?  Well,  now,  that's  a  good  joke !"  Wil 
son  answered,  with  a  tipsy  laugh.  "  Hiram  Jones 
says  we  don't  want  anything  more  to-night.  Never 
heard  him  say  that  before  in  my  born  days.  Good 
for  Hiram !" 

I  began  to  feel  uneasy.  The  men  in  the  bar-room 
came  gathering  around  us,  and  I  saw  evil  in  their 
bad  faces. 

"  Why  don't  you  drink  with  him  ?"  asked  one  of 
them  in  a  tone  that  meant  mischief. 

"Because,  as  just  said,  we've  both  had  enough,"  I 
returned,  controlling  my  voice  as  best  I  could. 

He  laughed  an  ugly  laugh.  Wilson  was  moving 
toward  the  bar.  I  put  my  hand  on  him,  and  leaning 
to  his  ear,  said,  "  Joe's  looking  for  you." 

He  stood  still  instantly,  not  answering  for  some 
moments.  I  saw  his  head  droop. 

"Come!"  I  said  again.  He  was  passive  now, 
going  with  me  toward  the  door.  But  the  men,  see 
ing  this,  went  round  and  intercepted  us. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  take  him  ?"  demanded 
one  of  them. 

"  Home,"  I  replied. 

He  cursed  me.  Out  of  his  eyes  flashed  a  cruel 
light. 

31 


362  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

"  His  son  is  looking  for  him,"  I  said.  "  Let  him 
go  out,  won't  you  ?" 

He  cursed  me  again  and  put  his  back  to  the  door. 
A  sudden  indignation  fired  me.  I  caught  him  by 
the  collar,  and  with  a  wrench  drew  him  forward  and 
then  flung  him  across  the  bar-room.  It  was  a  madly 
desperate  act  in  such  a  place  and  in  such  company. 
I  was  beaten  down  in  almost  a  second  of  time.  I 
did  not  know  much  of  what  followed  until  I  found 
myself  in  a  station-house.  In  the  morning,  spite  of 
all  I  could  say  in  my  own  behalf,  which  went  for 
little  or  nothing  against  the  sworn  testimony  of  some 
of  the  very  men  who  had  assaulted  me,  I  was  com 
mitted  for  drunkenness  and  rioting. 

Old  Wilson,  as  I  learned,  had  been  knocked  about 
some,  but  not  much  hurt.  He  got  off  with  a  few 
bruises,  considerably  scared,  and  made  his  way 
home.  On  the  next  day  he  took  the  pledge  again 
and  went  to  work. 

My  cup  was  full — full  of  bitter  wine. 

"  Here  again !"  exclaimed  the  prison  agent,  on 
coming  to  my  cell  an  hour  after  its  iron  door  had 
shut  me  in. 

I  told  him  all.     He  listened  with  deep  interest. 

"  It  curses  everybody,"  was  his  response  when  I 
had  finished.  Then  he  added,  "  And  so  you  do  not 
intend  going  back  into  your  old  business  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  starve !"  was  my  reply. 

He  took  the  name  of  old  Jacobs,  president  of  the 
Harvey-street  League,  and  went  away,  saying  that 


Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap.  363 

he  would  see  about  my  case.  Two  hours  afterward 
I  was  at  liberty  again,  but  under  bail  to  appear  in 
court  on  the  charge  of  drunkenness  and  rioting. 

But  I  did  not  have  to  stand  a  trial  for  these  misde 
meanors.  I  had  the  prison  agent  on  my  side  now, 
and  when  the  case  went  to  the  grand  jury,  he  laid 
such  a  statement  of  facts  before  them  as  prevented 
the  finding  of  a  true  bill  against  me. 

Meantime,  I  had  come  under  better  influences  and 
into  the  hands  of  true  men  who  were  in  earnest  to 
help  and  save — even  the  men  of  the  Harvey-street 
League.  What  I  had  done  and  suffered  for  old  Wil 
son  drew  toward  me  a  feeling  of  kindness,  and  when 
it  was  understood  that  I  had  renounced  the  business 
of  liquor-selling,  a  new  interest  was  awakened. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  asked  Jacobs  as  I 
came  forth  from  the  prison.  He  had  gone  bail  for 
me. 

I  shook  my  head  gloomily. 

"  Go  back  to  the  bindery.  You  are  a  good  work 
man." 

"That's  impossible,"  I  replied,  with  decision. 

"  Why  ?     Ashley  will  give  you  a  place." 

"  I  could  never  show  my  head  there,  Jacobs,  after 
what  has  been,"  I  said. 

"  Psha !"  he  returned.  "  It  won't  be  any  harder  for 
you  than  it  was  for  some  of  us." 

"No,  no,  no!"  I  answered,  emphatically.  "Any 
thing  but  that!  I'd  rather  go  and  jump  into  the 
dock ;"  and  that  was  my  feeling  at  the  time. 


364  Three  Years  in  a  Man-Trap. 

But  I  had  no  way  to  live  honestly  and  with  a 
clear  conscience  except  by  my  trade.  Two  or  three 
old  fellow-workmen  came  about  me,  moved  to  do  so 
by  Jacobs  and  by  the  cause  in  which  they  were  so 
deeply  interested.  They  talked  with  me,  and  showed 
so  much  interest  and  hearty  good-will  that  I  was  led 
at  last  to  overcome  my  shame  and  reluctance  and  go 
back  to  the  bindery.  I  took  the  pledge  of  the  Harvey- 
street  League,  and  am  now  an  earnest  worker  in  the 
cause  toward  which  I  stood  for  a  long  time  in  active 
antagonism. 

And  so  you  have  the  story  of  a  three  years'  effort 
to  get  rich  and  "  live  like  a  gentleman  "  by  means  of 
liquor-selling.  It  didn't  pay  in  my  case.  It  doesn't 
pay  in  any  case.  The  loss  is  always  more  than  the 
gain. 

"  Many  get  rich,  if  you  did  not,"  I  hear  one  say. 

To  which  I  answer  in  the  words  of  a  Book  1  read 
oftener  when  a  child  than  since:  "What  shall  it 
profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his 
own  soul  ?" 

"  Oh,  that's  cant !"  is  returned,  with  a  sneer.  "  A 
liquor-seller  turned  preacher !" 

Is  it  ?  Well,  have  it  so !  But  I  leave  you  the 
thought,  and  it  may  be  wise  to  give  it  consideration, 


THE   END. 


BOOK: 


WIVESII 


FRESH   AND   FADED. 


T.    S.    .A.  ZR,T  HITJ 

AUTHOR  OP  "TEN  NIGHTS  IN  i  BAR  ROOM,"  Etc. 


A.    J3  O  O  K    F  O  H    II  U  S  15  A.  IV 


ORANGE  BLOSSOMS 

FRESH  AND  FADED. 


FOR  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  Mr.  T.  S.  ARTHUR  has 
maintained  a  prominent  and  leading  position  among  the  authors 
and  writers  of  this  country.  His  books  have  had  a  wide  circu 
lation  both  in  America  and  Europe.  His  writings  possess 
peculiarities  that  endear  them  to  all  good  people.  His  stories 
have  carried  peace  and  brightness  to  thousands  of  homes. 
They  are  full  of  lessons  of  beautiful  truth,  and  are  designed  to 
awaken  and  keep  alive  the  tenderest  affections  of  our  nature, 
to  strengthen  virtue,  to  increase  domestic  joy,  and  to  sweeten 
home-life  by  the  abiding  presence  of  mutual  trust  and  love. 

In  this  new  volume  he  gives  us  a  series  of  life-pictures  drawn 
with  that  skill  and  power  which  is  peculiarly  his  own;  never 
weak,  always  deeply  in  earnest  and  frequently  intense  in  dra 
matic  effect,  he  has  brought  to  the  subject  here  discussed  his 
subtlest  discrimination  and  highest  effort. 

It  is  not  a  book  of  precept and  cold  advice,  but,  as  just  said,  of 
?  clearly  drawn  life-pictures.  Men  and  women  bound  by  the  con 
jugal  tie  are  brought  before  the  reader,  and  he  looks  down  into 
their  lives  and  sees  the  pulses  of  feeling — sees  in  some  cases 
the  "  little  foxes "  at  work  "  spoiling  the  tender  vines,"  and  in 
other  cases  the  peace  and  rest  and  joy  of  married  beauty. 


It  is  a  book  for  all  people,  young  or  old,  rich  or  poor,  for  the 
husbands  as  well  as  wives,  for  the  happy  and  the  unhappy. 

No  American  author  treating  this  subject  could  write  so  good 
and  useful  a  work  as  Mr.  Arthur. 

At  this  time  many  of  our  most  talented  and  popular  writers 
are  putting  forth  false  and  pernicious  views  of  marriage,  lower 
ing  the  tone  of  public  morals  and  doing  an  untold  social  injury : 
the  publishers  offer  this  as  an  antidote  to  such  pernicious  views : 
"Orange  Blossoms"  is  a  healthy  book,  and  its  wide  circulation 
cannot  fail  to  do  a  great  amount  of  good. 

Assured  of  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the  work,  the  publishers  be$ 
leave  to  announce  that  they  have  spared  neither  pains  nor  ex 
pense  in  its  mechanical  execution.  It  is  printed  with  new  and 
large,  clear-faced  type  on  fine  tinted  paper,  and  is  handsomely 
bound  in  the  best  manner,  with  black  and  gold  ornamentation  on 
back  and  sides,  and  appropriate  inlaid  stamp.  It  is  elegantly 
illustrated  with  superior  pictures  engraved  by  Lauderbach  after 
designs  by  Schuessele  and  Bensell,  and  contains  an  accurate 
and  beautiful  likeness  of  the  author  on  steel  engraved  at  great 
expense  by  the  celebrated  artist,  J.  L.  Rice.  To  ensure  a  large 
sale  of  this  elegant  volume,  the  price  has  been  fixed  so  low  as 

to  be  within  reach  of  all. 

3 


CONTENTS. 


LITTLE  FOXES. 


II. 


STRENGTH  AND  WEAKNESS. 

III. 
LOVE  NOT  CONSTRAINED. 


IV. 


GROWING  COLD. 


V. 


LITTLE  THINGS. 


VI. 


IN  DANGER. 


VII. 
TEN  YEARS  AFTER  MARRIAGE. 

VIII. 
A  HINT  TO  HUSBANDS. 

IX. 
A  VOUNG  WIFE'S  SORROW. 

X. 

LOOKING  I  OR  WRINKLES. 

XI. 

A  NERVOUS  WIFE. 

XII. 
ONLY  A  HUSBAND. 

XIII. 
THE  FIRST  SHADOW. 


XIV. 
NOT  APPRECIATED. 

XV. 
SMILES  FOR  HOME. 

XVI. 

THE  FOILED  TEMPTER. 

XVII. 
DRIFTING  AWAY. 

XVIII. 
CAN  YOU  AFFORD  IT? 

XIX. 
THE  MEREST  TRIFLE. 

XX. 

MARRYING  A  BEAUTY. 

XXI. 

JOHN  ARMOR'S  SCARE. 

XXII. 
NOBODY  BUT  JOHN. 

XXIII. 
LOVE,  A  GIVER. 

XXIV. 
FIVE  YEARS  AFTERWARD. 

XXV. 
WHAT  WILL  THE  WORLD  SAY! 

XXVI. 
WHEN  IT  WAS  OVER. 


Specimen  Page  of  Orange  Blossoms. 


96  TEN  YEARS  AFTER  MARRIAGE. 

And  now  Mrs.  Rowland  left  her  chamber 
again.  Her  slippered  feet  gave  no  sound  as 
they  moved  over  the  carpet,  and  she  came  to 
the  open  door  of  the  sitting-room  without  be 
traying  a  sign  of  her  approach.  There  she 
stood  still.  Mr.  Rowland  was  not  at  the  table 
reading,  as  she  had  left  him,  but  at  his  secretary, 
which  was  open.  He  was  reclining  his  head  on 
one  hand  and  gazing  down  upon  something 
held  in  the  other,  and  seemed  wholly  absorbed. 
For  more  than  a  minute  he  remained  in  this 
fixed  attitude,  his  wife  as  still  as  himself.  Then 
a  long  sigh  trembled  on  the  air,  and  then  lift 
ing  the  object  on  which  his  gaze  was  directed, 
Mr.  Rowland  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  kissing  it  al 
most  passionately  three  or  four  times.  A  wild 
throb  leaped  along  Mrs.  Rowland's  veins.  Then 
her  heart  grew  still  as  in  the  presence  of  some 
unknown  but  stupendous  evil.  Something 
impelled  her  to  spring  forward  and  read  this 
mystery,  and  something  as  strongly  held  her 
back.  As  she  stood,  pale  now  and  in  a  tremor, 
the  object  was  kissed  again,  and  then  returned 
to  a  drawer  in  the  secretary  from  which  it  had 
been  taken.  In  this  act  for  an  instant  the 
miniature  of  a  lady  met  the  gaze  of  Mrs.  How- 


"  A  book  of  intense  interest  and  inestimable  worth.' 


—  OP  — 


/N»  POPULAR  WORK 

ORANGE    BLOSSOMS 

Fresh  and  Faded. 

%*  Elegantly  printed  on  tinted  paper,  superbly  illustrated  and  bound  in 
a  unique  and  sumptuous  manner. 


"  THE  purest  and  best  book  of  its  kind  ever  issued  from  any  press." — 

Hazleton  Sentinel. 

"Its  crowding  incidents  hurry  on  the  reader  to  its  conclusion  with 
almost  breathless  interest.  .  .  .  Its  numerous  actors  as  the  author 
depicts  them,  are  living,  breathing,  men  and  women,  who  tell  the  story 
to  the  reader  in  the  passages  of  their  lives,  which  have  been  selected  with 
so  skilful  a  hand.  ...  It  cannot  but  bring  a  crowning  success  to  the 
long  and  successful  career  of  the  distinguished  author."— Banner  of 
Light,  Boston. 

"  Candor,  honesty  and  explicit  confidence  between  married  persons  is 
shown  in  this  work  to  constitute  the  ground  work  of  conjugal  happi 
ness." — Catholic  Standard,  Philadelphia. 

4  *  He  seeks  in  a  variety  of  pleasing  ways  to  point  out  the  perils,  and 
promote  the  felicities  of  married  life,  with  a  view  to  preserve  the  sanc 
tities  and  harmonies  of  home." — Boston  Daily  Transcript. 

"In  *  Orange  Blossoms,'  are  many  stories  of  society,  written  with 
grace,  ease  and  truth,  each  with  a  practical  moral  at  the  bottom.  The 
book  is  full  of  life  and  spirit  .  .  .  very  readable.  .  .  .  The  orna- 


PRESS     TESTIMONIALS. 

mental  binding  may  be  taken  as  expressive  of  the  publishers  own  appre 
ciation  of  the  work."— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  The  arrow  that  he  presses  home  now,  is  the  necessity  of  a  happy 
married  life,  and  this  is  feathered  by  six  and  twenty  incidents  fastened  to 
and  constituting  the  shaft.  Each  is  good,  and  all  with  varied  degrees  of 
dramatic  power,  enforce  conclusions  of  admitted  merit." — 

North  American,  of  Philadelphia. 

"  Not  only  pleasantly  written,  but  has  a  practical  value— not  only  pure 
in  tone,  but  manifests  a  definite  purpose,  and  that  of  the  most  elevated 
character.  The  volume  is  one  which  in  the  hands  of  the  young  especially, 
is  calculated  to  be  productive  of  much  good." — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  A  new  book  from  the  pen  of  T.  S.  Arthur,  one  of  the  most  famous 
of  American  Authors.  .  .  .  The  pictures  drawn  by  the  author  are 
characteristic  of  his  great  dramatic  skill,  and  cannot  possibly  fail  to  have 
that  excellent  moral  effect  included  in  his  excellent  design."— Boston 
Times. 

"The  book  ought  to  find  its  way  into  every  household  in  our  land. 
We  know  of  no  book  of  equal  merit.  ...  Is  evidently  the  result  of 
noble  Christian  purpose.  His  theme  is  of  the  utmost  importance  and  inter 
est."—  Watchman  and  Eeflector. 

"  Is  calculated  to  do  more  towards  sweetening  the  cup  of  family  care 
and  trial  than  any  homilies  that  could  be  delivered."— Zion's  Herald. 

11  Everything  that  T.  S.  Arthur  writes,  is  good,  this  is  a  book  of  life 
pictures,  takes  you  into  other  times,  and  makes  you  familiar  with  other 
experiences." — Saturday  Evening  Post. 

11  Deserves  a  wide  sale  and  we  are  glad  to  know  is  achieving  an  im 
mense  popularity." — City  Item. 

"  Is  the  "best  we  have  read  of  his  works. "—Alleghany  Times. 

"  All  who  want  their  Orange  Blossoms  to  remain  fresh  and  fragrant  up 
to  old  age  ought  to  read  this  book.  All  who  want  to  learn  why  and  how 
they  often  fade  so  early,  will  find  the  mystery  solved.  Is  a  healthy 
book,  and  its  wide  circulation  cannot  fail  to  do  good  as  an  antidote  to  the 
pernicious  works  which  are  daily  weakening  the  social  ties  " — 

Milton  Miltonian. 

11  Worth  a  place  among  the  purest  productions  of  the  day.  Delicacy 
of  sentiment  and  nobility  of  purpose  are  its  ehief  characteristics,  and  we 
wish  for  it  a  place  among  our  household  influences.  .  .  Will  interest 
both  young  and  old. — Philadelphia  Age. 


We  want  reliable  Agents  to  canvass  for  this  great  work;  and 
to  such  as  are  competent  liberal  inducements  will  be  made. 

SOLD  ONLY  BY  SUBSCRIPTION, 
It  is  issued  in  the  following  named  styles : 

Crown  Octavo,  superior  cloth,  gilt  and  inlaid  side  stamp  $2.50 
Crown  Octavo,  superior  cloth,  gilt  and  inlaid  side  stamp, 

gilt  edge 3.00 

Crown  Octavo,  fine  Turkey  morocco 4.50 


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